


The Haven Series (A Teen Wolf Story)| DerekxOc

by Keepcalmandcontinueblissfully



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Hayley marshall - Freeform, Horror, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Phoebe Tonkin - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Werewolves, the haven series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 199,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepcalmandcontinueblissfully/pseuds/Keepcalmandcontinueblissfully
Summary: *Seasons 1-6* What would you do if you could predict a war before it happened? How would you stop it? How would you change the events so that your own hands weren't stained with more blood. Finding herself situated in the center of a supernatural war zone, strange things begin to happen to Riley Haven in the tragic wake of her mothers murder. The side effects of that night seems to leave her mind reeling for an explanation, teetering on the edge of nightmares and reality, she notices it's getting harder and harder to tell the two a part.





	1. Strange Encounter

Beacon Hills was not the first town she would have chosen to move to, yet she didn't think twice about it once she'd packed her belongings and left. Her whole life she had lived in San Diego, engulfed by the brilliant sun rays and fast paced life-style. But she had her reasons for moving, and the burden only seemed to weigh her down as she continued to think about why she'd had to leave. She couldn't afford to live in her two story home anymore now that it was just her. Not that she really wanted to either, even after they'd removed the bloodstains from the carpet of her mothers room. Riley winced, gulping back the bile that had risen to her throat. That house would never feel like home to her again and so she gathered the few things she could fit into her suitcases, keeping the left over money from her mothers life insurance to put her back on track.

She'd tried calling her father for help, but she hadn't heard from him in months. Riley had an older sister floating around somewhere, but she didn't even have a number to dial to try an reach her. It felt as if everyone she could have turned to seemed to abandon her the most in her time of need. They hadn't even returned home for their mother's funeral, much less to help her start up a new life. But Riley Haven was fiercely independent, yet terrified of being alone. She knew she could adapt to the small town easily, but struggling to go about her day as if she had never seen her mother die was what would undoubtedly cause her the most trauma. Learning to survive without the one person she was so use to seeing everyday was what she was afraid of.

If her mother wasn't there to help her, than who was?

She knew the savings would soon run out, and so she'd applied to nearly every business within a three mile radius. Not having a car at the moment was tough, but her father, for some reason was unable to make the monthly payment of the car she'd had to the dealership where he had worked, and so they'd repossessed it. The apartment complex she moved into wasn't the best either. Sure there were flower pots and swimming pools, but that meant nothing when the days turned to nights. Riley had learned real quick not to invest any kindness into her neighbors who seemed to accumulate in the parking lot late at night, doing God knows what. Riley wasn't about that lifestyle, and she wouldn't allow herself to cave into their cat-calls and rowdy behavior.

She had managed to buy a mattress off of a neighbor a few buildings away. Her studio apartment wasn't much, and the lack of interior design really made the place feel less like home. But it worked, and Riley felt like she couldn't complain. People had it way worse than she did and somehow made things work within their lives. Just because the depression seemed to congest her, didn't mean she wasn't grateful.

Being thrust into an adult lifestyle so soon had caught her off guard. She didn't know how to ration her money enough to pay the bills. She didn't know how she'd juggle work, school and a home life, but she hoped that she'd figure it out somewhere along the way. The only High School within walking distance was Beacon Hills High. She'd signed herself up for third semester classes, having to make a few calls to ensure her transcripts were transferred successfully. And even then, her school back in San Diego had gotten that screwed up as well. The Chemistry class she had taken Freshman year had gotten lost unfortunately, leaving Riley without any choice but to repeat the class with a bunch of Sophomores.

Adapting to a town she had never been in seemed like the downfall of it all.

 

 

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Riley Haven kept to herself mostly, having spent the last hour in the office of her High School, arguing about the lack of extra curricular activities. 'What kind of God damn school doesn't even have a debate team?', she growled internally, rolling her eyes when the lady at the front desk had suggested joining the yearbook club or lacrosse team instead. She'd been the captain of the Senior debate team back home, and became increasingly agitated that she'd once again have to give something up. All her dedication and volunteering had put her at a remarkably high standard back home, and she would have been rewarded a scholarship for college if she had stayed.

But a free education wasn't even enough of an incentive to stay. With all that had happened, moving miles away was something she just felt had to be done. Leaving behind the chaos and the heartache was something she needed to do. For herself and for her sanity. She stared at the lock on her locker angrily, frowning from the mental exhaustion she seemed to allow herself to go through. Beginning school again from Christmas break didn't seem appropriate, especially since she'd used that break to hoard her stuff from one town to the other. She didn't expect her teachers to go easy on her, but something deep down inside hoped they'd allow her time. Riley rested her forehead against the cold metal of the locker, breathing uneasily as she tried to drown out the noise from the surrounding students. The hall seemed overcrowded and loud, clamping her eyes shut to control her breathing.

One voice in particular stood out, listening as a teenage boy feverishly approached the locker beside her, his voice hushed and frantic as he seemed to speak into the receiver of his phone. "Yeah, dad!" His tone was sarcastic and exasperated. Riley side-glanced him as he hurriedly shoved his books into his locker. "I'm definitely not lying! I don't know how your police scanner ended up in my room." His face squinted up, and Riley could tell just by his expression that he was lying. "No-nope, dad," he whined. "I definitely did not steal it. Look-" he breathed hastily. "Dad?" He huffed, pursing his lips as he imitated crackling noises. "Dad-you're breaking up!" His voice crackled once more, "Dad-I gotta go!" Crrrrrrrrck. "I love you-" crrrrrrrrrrrck.

Riley bit her tongue to keep from cracking a smile, but somehow the boy beside her had noticed her upturned lips. "Sup?" He questioned suddenly, leaning against the metal frame in what he predicted to be a cool manner. Riley's cheeks flamed, smiling to him quickly before shyly shuffling her books into her bag. "You're Reyna, right?" He questioned, squinting his eyes to appear smoldering. Stiles Stilinski was and always would be an awkward boy. His lanky frame and buzzed hair didn't peak her interests in the slightest, but this was a new school, and first impressions were what she needed to focus on.

"Riley." She corrected him. His smile fell, obviously embarrassed that he had butchered the new girls name.

His hand suddenly jutted out, inches from her face as he shook off his anxiety. "I'm Stiles." He murmured, grasping her light hand with a firm shake. His lips parted when speaking her name on his tongue. "Riley." He nodded, trying not to stare too much. To say that Riley was pretty was an understatement. He didn't know who to thank exactly for having her assigned locker next to his. "Rileyyyyyyyy," he dragged out each letter. "Rinester. Rileynaterrrrrrr." He smiled, playing with each form of words to find a nickname he thought suited her best.

"Just Riley," she murmured. "Please." 'What an awkward kid!' She scream internally, feeling slightly uncomfortable beneath his wandering gaze. His doe eyes were wide and fascinated by her, his lips parting so far that his tongue nearly slipped from his teeth.

Stiles was cute in a way. Shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot as he dropped his gaze finally. His skin was porcelain, nearly translucent between his scattered freckles. "So. . . Riley," he enunciated her name stiffly. "You're new, right? How's your day? Do you know all your classes? Met any guys you like?" His questions were scattered and quick. "Cause, you know. . ." he hinted deviously, "I have connections here with, like. . . Everybody. My dads a cop." He smiled proudly. "Thee cop, actually. He's the Sheriff."

The phone call he'd had with his father suddenly made sense, chuckling at the fact that this boy obviously didn't play by the rules of a strict father. "It's been good." She smiled, lying furiously through her teeth. "Everyone's. . ." She took a steady breath. "Nice."

Stiles noticed her school schedule crumpled within her palm, snatching it briskly as he read over her classes with hopeful eyes. "Yes!" He chanted, fist-bumping the air. His out-burst caught her off guard, watching with wide eyes as a shit-eating grin plastered over his cheeks. "We have Chemistry together." He handed the paper back to her, his index finger jabbing at the class that belonged to Mr. Harris. She forced a smile, hiding her internal aggravation as she collected her transcripts from her locker. She followed beside him, rolling her eyes at the constant questions that seemed to overlap one another. She kept her answers short and sweet, not trying to allow any personal information to slip through.

The boy was immature and a spaz, but he'd been the first one to approach her through her first day, and so she silently kept beside him as they walked. The Chemistry class was full of Sophomores, all eyeing her warily as Stiles dragged her to the table towards the back. He sat next to a shaggy-haired boy, his questions silencing as he introduced them. "Scott!" Stiles breathed, clapping his best friend since elementary school's shoulders. "This is Riley," he gestured his hand to the silently irritated brunette behind him. "Riley, this is Scott." She smiled to him, appreciating the new boy's silence and respect for personal space.

Stiles became mute momentarily, shuffling through his backpack for a pencil. "Sorry about him," Scott leaned over to whisper to her. He made it a priority of his to always ensure the people around him weren't negatively tortured by the spaz that was his best friend. "He comes off a little strong," he shrugged. "But he's a good kid." He smiled then, and the dimples within his cheeks were prominent and sweet. Scott McCall took the time from his own hectic life to ensure the new girl felt welcomed, and that was saying a lot considering that he was going through some . . . Changes.

In an attempt to regain her attention, Stiles smacked his hand across her desk. She flinched as her transcript papers fluttered, settling to the floor beneath their feet. He rushed to pick them up, muttering an apology as he scrambled in his seat. He nearly fell from his desk to retrieve each paper, causing a scene as the Chemistry teacher took notice. "Stilinski." He growled. His tone was annoyed, and Riley realized that this was probably a daily thing that the teacher had to put up with. "You done yet?"

"Not yet!" Stiles insisted from beneath her desk, fumbling to sit back in his seat as he tried to put the papers back in order. "Now I'm done." He promised, raising his thumb up as the teacher rolled his eyes, continuing on with the beginning of his lecture. "Sorry." He breathed to Riley, straightening out her transcripts. His eyes skimmed the front page he was holding, his eyes bulging suddenly. "Whoa-wait!" He gasped. "You're eighteen!?" He gawked at her, unable to see the contrast from her to his sixteen year old self. The entire classroom of sixteen year old's turned to stare, judging and accusing her with surprised eyes. She knew what they were thinking, wondering if she was slow. "How are you-"

"Stilinski!" Mr. Harris hissed, the veins in his neck pulsing as his skin became flamed. "This is your last warning!"

"Yes, sir! Got it." He shook his head, running his index finger and thumb across his lips as if he were zipping his lips shut for good. "Not another peep, I swear." Riley's cheeks burned, her brows furrowing in deep concentration to not lash out at the young boy. She'd known him for a mere fifteen minutes, and he'd already embarrassed her enough for a life time. She ground her teeth together, balling her fists in frustration. She evened out her breathing, trying to condense her temper silently. "Sorry." Stiles whispered to her.

And she ignored him. In fact, Riley ignored all of his attempts to gain her attention the rest of the period. Staring angrily at her text book to keep her eyes strained. She looked to Scott once, relaxing slightly when he'd shot her an apologetic smile. This was definitely not something she had anticipated. She wanted to breeze past her last year and a half of school so that she could move on with her life, and here sat a hyperactive child that had made it a personal goal to torment her through googly eyes and awkward questions. But she had to admit, for the first time in nearly a month, Riley had felt a tad bit lighter. She felt a sense of playfulness that came along with brutal embarrassment. It was odd for her to be angry and completely content. The feelings didn't coincide with one another so well, and that feeling collected in her lungs. It devoured the clustered mess that was her heart, and allowed her to breathe easy for the first time in a long while.

And when the bell rang, she collected her things silently, trying desperately to enjoy the small amount of lightness that the burdened pressure seemed to collect. But it seemed to disappear as his voice sounded once more. "So. . ." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with detailed anxiety. "Yeah-sorry." He apologized again, pointing to her papers. "I didn't mean to out you like that." She pursed her lips, accepting his apology silently as she went to step around him. "But," Stiles followed her into the hallway as Scott ran off in the opposite direction. "I noticed you are, like, really good at Algebra." He noted, his eyes still wide and hopeful. "Do you-do you think you could, like, you know, tutor me sometime?"

His pace slowed to match hers, following her to their lockers as she tried her best to avoid his puppy eyes. This boy didn't even know her, yet he sat there with a pleading tone for her to help him out. She wanted to tell him no, to let him down easy so that he wouldn't be interested in trying to pry his way into her life anymore. But that wasn't who Riley Haven was. Sure, she was quiet and reserved. Shy even, but she was never one to let someone else struggle. She was the kind of girl who would drop anything and everything for a friend. Even if her and Stiles were not that close yet, having a friend was something she knew she'd need sometime soon.

She nodded silently, gulping the thickness in her throat that told her getting involved with this boy was a bad idea. "Yes!" Stiles bellowed, throwing his hands up in the air with excitement. A grin plastered across his face as Riley's cheeks went red from embarrassment once more. If this boy caused a scene everywhere they went, she wasn't sure if she could handle much more anxiety.

Riley felt the slightest hint of a migraine begin to form as Stiles dragged her along with him to lunch. Normally she would have opted for a moment of silence outside alone, but he was insistent about her joining him and Scott. For his age, Stiles was quite clingy. She sat across from Stiles, declining nicely when he offered her the seat right beside him. She watched as he narrowly shoveled a handful of curly fries into his mouth, still adamant about asking her questions around full lips. "So," he mumbled behind a mouthful of food. "Why'd you move here?"

'There it was', Riley thought mournfully. That was the question she was dreading the most. Her entire body began to tense, her palms began to sweat and her eyes began to sting. She shuffled uncomfortably within her seat, avoiding his gaze cautiously. "I-I um," she cleared her throat. "I just needed a change." She shrugged.

Her nails had dug into her thigh, a dull and painful throb pulsing in her skin. But that pain had nothing on the rapid ache that tore through her chest, realizing that she had revealed too much, too soon. Stiles nodded, his brows furrowing. "But why-"

His question was cut off as someone pulled out the seat beside her, looking to the shaggy haired boy from her previous class as he sat beside Stiles. A pale-faced brunette sat down timidly beside Riley, looking up as she smiled brilliantly at her with dimpled cheeks. "Hi." The girl waved her slim fingers. "I'm Allison."

She was petite, yet the muscles on her arms were well defined. Her structured features were alarmingly dainty yet strong. Her physicality was based off the years of gymnastics and archery she had taken up as a kid. And from the way Allison Argent and Scott smiled to one another, she guessed that they were in love. She was about to praise the girl beside her for how pretty she was, when a quick voice overlapped hers. "Keg party at my house tonight," Riley looked up into the green eyes of a slender red-head. "After the game of course." Lydia Martin chuckled, taking a seat on the other side of Allison.

Ragers were her thing. Everyone knew that Lydia threw the best parties, and to be invited was a blessing. She was as high as one could get when it came to the popularity food chain. Riley admired her slender hands, evenly painted a crimson red across her nail beds. Her fingers wound around those of someone else. The rigid knuckles of a boy that lounged into the back of his chair with a crooked grin. "Beer always tastes better after a victory." The boy had cropped blonde hair, his jawline strong and chin stuck up slightly. He looked to be a typical child from a rich upbringing. The watch on his wrist could easily make up for two months of Riley's rent. "We're going to slay that game tonight!"

"Unless of course," Stiles ranted awkwardly, chewing his food anxiously, "you don't." He laughed nervously, almost as if he seemed uncomfortable under direct eye contact from the jock. "Beer tastes better either way. Win or lose." Stiles tried to make small talk, and yet found himself to be digging a hole to bury his insecurities in.

"You don't sound too confident." Allison furrowed a brow. "Aren't you on the team too?"

"More like a bench warmer." The jock snarked.

"Jackson." The red-head sighed, trying to ease him out of his temper. Lydia knew how temperamental her boyfriend could get, and did not like him making a scene that could potentially corrupt her identity in the social ladder of the school. "Don't get stressed," she murmured to him lowly, her hand reaching up to rub his shoulders. "We don't want our star performer to fumble the game, do we?" Jackson Whittemore shook his head.

Riley leaned onto her elbows, pursing her lips as she made eye contact from Jackson to Stiles. "What sport do you guys play?" Silence seemed to cling to their table, hearing Jackson scrape his fork against his plate. He seemed almost appalled that she had to ask.

Everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew he was the captain of the Lacrosse team. "You're joking, right?" He snorted, knitting his brows together in accusation. Riley shook her head, a shrug lining itself on her shoulders as he seemed to react in a cocky way. He expected her to know who he was, and the fact that she didn't only made him assume that his name was not as recognizable as he'd thought.

"Actually," she rebutted, her tone slicing it's way through the tension. "I'm not."

She would not stand for assholes or bullies, especially when they were so conceited. "Lacrosse." Scott McCall murmured, swirling his spoon over his left over apple sauce. He felt the need to extract some of the tension, and ensure that she wasn't left to fend for herself against Jackson's remarks. "We're on the Lacrosse team, it's kind of like hockey but it's on grass and our sticks have nets."

He smiled gently, his jaw crooked and his cheeks dimpled. Riley could tell he was a tender person by how careful he was with others. "Isn't that called field hockey?" Riley questioned, raising a brow to the boy as his long hair fell into his eyes. She was joking with him, and somehow Scott could sense that she was only kidding, sighing in relief.

She knew what the sport consisted of, and didn't need it to be explained. Her father had played it in College, and she remembered the trophies splayed across their house growing up . . . That of course, was before her parents divorce. "Changing the subject," Allison chimed in, her doe like eyes glittering with curiosity. She was happy to find that she was no longer considered the new kid, and felt bad that Riley had taken her spot of constant attention. "Why don't you tell us a little more about yourself?"

Allison's eyes were kind and intrigued, her lips spreading into a soft smile as she waited for Riley to proceed. "Yeah," Jackson agreed with a cocky attitude, "why don't you tell us all some useless information that we'll never remember or care about?" He asked as a way of being a jackass. It was people like him that made Riley's knuckles tighten, wanting to punch that smirk right off his chiseled face. But she remained calm and collected, even allowing her own grin to raise her cheeks.

Lydia's green eyes squinted, sending him a warning look to behave himself. "Dude," Stiles opened his mouth in surprise, pointing an acussing hand his way. "Why do you always have to be such an asshole?"

"No." Riley confronted them both, nodding her head at the freckle faced teen. "He's right." She rose then as she grabbed her bag, looming over their lunch table with a sense of sarcasm and fierceness. "I shouldn't waste any more of his precious time." She looked down then, pretending to read an imaginary watch wrapped around her wrist. "If I did, that would mean he'd have to stop being a pretentious, self-absorbed dick for longer than three seconds." Watching his amused expression drop seemed to be the highlight of her day, finding it quite necessary to relay her thoughts on this arrogant jackass.

The lunch table fell silent as Jackson processed her rant, judging her with the notion that she'd only known him for a solid three minutes. But that was all it took to discover just how disgusting someones behavior truly was. And then Stiles, who sat across from her with a mouthful of fries, began to slow clap. Celebrating the victory of someone finally standing up to him, something he'd been too scared to do since the second grade. Both Allison and Scott held their lips together in a thin line, gnashing their teeth together to keep from laughing. By their expressions, Riley assumed they both thought the exact same thing. Jackson's jawline hardened, his fist encircling around his fork as he glared at her destructively. His mouth opened as if he were to retaliate, but Riley's back was already turned, swerving from their heated conversation before the words could even leave his mouth.

And suddenly, she didn't worry so much about first impression's anymore.

 

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It took some convincing from her inner mind, but Riley finally agreed with herself to attend the Lacrosse game tonight. It wasn't because she was afraid to face that entitled snob, but because it honestly wasn't a sport that interested her. But she arrived a few minutes before the game started, wrapping her heavy cardigan closer to her chest as a cold wind blew by. Beacon Hills hadn't quite impressed her with it's weather yet, and she already knew it would never compare to San Diego's.

The crowds had already gathered in the stands, pumping themselves up for the scrimmage that was about to take place. Her eyes wandered, searching for an empty space as someone's voice overlapped the constant chatter, calling her name. "Riley!" She turned her head, already knowing where the catcalls had come from as she saw a pale skinned boy in a maroon jersey sitting on the bench, his hands waiving frantically to gain her attention. And once her eyes locked with Stiles, he beckoned her over. Jackson wasn't kidding when he'd called him 'the bench warmer'. "You made it." He huffed in an eager sigh.

"Yeah," she nodded with a sarcastic grin, "Sorry I'm late, I didn't really want to come."

And it took Stiles a minute to catch up to her level of joking, but finally let out a laugh himself. And as Riley's eyes wandered over the team, she found Stiles' shaggy haired friend Scott, with his head bent to his chest and his shoulders inhaling and exhaling slowly. Stiles could see the questioning gleam within her eye, speaking up for his best friend quickly. "He's got some anger . . . issues." He relayed casually, covering up a much bigger suspicion. "Don't worry about it," he waived him off as he directed her attention elsewhere, "he'll be fine."

Riley nodded, not bothering to question Stiles' erratic responses before Coach Finstock blew his whistle to huddle up his team. And seeing her brush off the wonder was a relief for him, because he knew tonight would be a challenging game for Scott as it was . . . But the full moon would only make it that much worse. She left him then, heading for the stands as the crowd stood and cheered for the players as they took their position on the field. And standing on the third row was a friendly brunette with a squared jaw, brown curly locks and knitted beanie. Allison waived at her with an inviting smile, even if the red head beside her seemed to glance into her compact mirror with distaste as she reapplied another layer of gloss.

Against Riley's better judgement, she took a seat beside them both.

And for the first few minutes of the game, their wasn't much for them to talk about. They kept their eyes on the players, both RIley and Allison flinching each time that Lydia belted out a cheer when Jackson got the ball. And Riley kept her eyes on the only number she recognized, number eleven; Scott McCall. He was both fast and lithe on his feet, and even being a part of first line, the players would not pass him the ball. "I think he likes you." She felt Allison suddenly nudge her, looking up to her in surprise. She followed the girls doe--like eyes until they landed on the jersey labeled twenty--four. Stiles Stilinski. It confused her for a moment, her brows knitting momentarily before her mind could register her words. "He wouldn't stop talking about what you did at lunch."

Riley felt her hands sweat in nervousness, feeling uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had sailed. "We're just friends." She insisted, if you could even call them that. She'd only known him a whole twelve hours. "And I don't tolerate assholes." She mentioned, keeping her voice low enough so that Lydia Martin would not hear.

"What you did for him was nice." Allison exclaimed finally, her porcelain cheeks rising into two divets where her dimples caved in. Riley rolled her eyes, shaking her head as her eyes continued to watch the game.

"I didn't do it just for his benefit." Riley confessed, reminding herself just how good it felt to turn the tables on the one causing the trouble. After what she'd endured recently, Riley had allowed a significant amount of pent up anger to reside within her. And instead of letting her body combust and let it rattle her bones, she'd used her mouth as a weapon instead.

And it had felt therapeutic.

And suddenly her mothers words floated into the forefront of her head, reminding her that she would always be a 'loose canon'. Her hands tensed up at the thought, choking on the words she would have said as a come back. Riley could feel her spine become rigid, her eyes raising to glance up at the moon. It was bright and full. And as she stared at it, she counted down within her head, easing her breathing to keep her panic attack at bay. They were common for her now, they always idled in her chest. Just thinking of her mom usually put a sour taste in the back of her throat.

And as she eased herself into a more manageable state, she'd lost focus on everything else. And it wasn't until the crowd erupted into a roar of applause, that she was finally able to coax herself back to the present. She watched as both Allison and Lydia stormed the field with the other mass of crowds, congratulating the winning team on their first victory of the season. She remained seated in the stands, her heated palms rubbing against her thighs as the attack wore itself thin and finally eased its weight from her shoulders. Had an hour really gone by that fast? "Did you see that?" She heard Stiles demand lightheartedly, a wide grin stretched over his teeth. "I can't believe it!" He cheered, approaching her with clenched fists as he drove them into the air in happiness.

"Did you win?" She asked, raising a brow in uncertainty.

"Did we win?" He asked, a huff of bewilderment stuck in his throat. "We literally pulverized the other team!" He hinted, splaying his arms out to the crowd of congratulating bystanders. "Scott scored the winning shot just seconds before the game ended!"

Riley nodded once before pursing her lips. "Remind me to congratulate him."

Stiles huffed with playful banter. "Remind me to remind you to get in line!" His erattic sense of happiness finally died down as Riley stood, planting her feet on the lush grass as she pulled her bag over her shoulder. "Hey," he said, touching her shoulder gently, "you're not leaving, are you?" He asked, his whiskey colored eyes almost torn. "Please tell me you're at least going to Lydia's party?"

His expression was hopeful and his eyes insistent. "I kind of insulted her boyfriend earlier." Riley reminded him with a crooked grin. "I think I may have uninvited myself."

She made her way to step around him, heading for the parking lot only to have him prop himself between her and freedom. "C'mon!" He pressed, unable to keep his spastic movements still for longer than thirty seconds. "Everything that you said at lunch, it's what we were all thinking . . . Lydia included." He tried to justify her actions eagerly. "And besides," he rose a hand to scratch the back of his ear nervously, "she can't, ya know, throw you out if you're like, I don't know, there with me." He stuttered.

'There it was', Riley thought mindfully, 'the proof that what Allison said was true'.

She had to admit that this kid was ballsy. That this Sophomore who was two years younger than her had the nerve to ask her to a party. Was he that confident? Or that stupid? Riley had yet to determine it herself. His eyes were wide and waiting for her response, almost as if he were positive she'd say yes. Maybe he was stupid after all. The vein within Stiles' neck throbbed painfully, his heart beating so fast that he was sure the moon was affecting him just as bad as it was Scott. His palms were sweating, tucked into his Lacrosse shorts as he rolled back and forth onto the balls of his feet nervously. He gave her his puppy dog eyes, what kind of girl could turn down his puppy dog eyes? Beside Lydia Martin herself, obviously. "So . . . " He trailed off after a moment of awkward silence, her answer still not being voiced, "Is that a yes?"

In all honesty, she probably would have gone just to give herself something to do, but she had plenty of other things to do. Like grieve and guilt trip herself into facing the reality of her mothers recent passing. And so she thoughtfully declined. And he could see the answer on her face the moment she finally decided it, pursing his lips in defeat as he let his eyes shift to the ground in embarrassment. 'Did I really think I could reel in a girl like her?' He thought to himself.

"I'm sorry." She apologized, shifting out a hand to his jersey covered shoulder. "I've just got so much unpacking to do," she lied easily as she let him down as softly as she could. The freckles on his cheeks aligned as a small and sad smile slipped between his plump, tangerine lips. He understood only vaguely, not realizing that she hadn't taken much with her when she'd moved. And even if she hadn't told him the truth about wanting to be alone to grieve, Stiles would have understood that better. He knew what grieving felt like, having lost his own mother nearly six years ago. "Maybe next time." She promised with a playful nudge to lighten him back up.

Little did she know that Stiles took promises very seriously.

 

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The wait for the ladies room was unbelievable, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably until it was her turn. By the time she'd finally made it out of the four walls of clustered woman of all ages, she'd realized she'd missed the last bus back home. She groaned tiredly, shuffling her phone back into her bag with slight aggravation. Not having a car was a huge inconvenience. And with that, she made her way across the nearly vacant parking lot as she mentally prepared herself for the three mile walk back to her apartment. It wasn't that three miles was a long distance for her, having come from a track team back in San Diego, but the fact that it was such a late hour in a town she barely knew. Of course she'd heard about the recent animal attacks in various locations of Beacon Hills, but she figured her odds couldn't have been so bad that she'd end up as a late night snack for a vicious mountain lion. Or maybe there were wolves, but as far as she knew, wolves hadn't been in California for the last sixty or so years.

Trailing along the parking lot, heading for the side walk on the opposite side of the school, Riley wandered under a street light as it beamed down on the car she was passing below. It's metal frame was curved and aerodynamically suited for speed. It was a car her father would have liked. And just the thought of her dad made her feet fumble to a stop, her eyes narrowing at how the black paint reflected her idling before it. And it made her sad to think about him, wondering where he was that he couldn't have attempted any contact with her in the past year. The sports car before her only acted as a reminder of the hobby she and him both shared. Their love of fast cars had kept them undeniably close for the past twelve years. Whoever owned this car must have shared that same ideal.

The drivers side window was rolled down, keeping a far enough stance away that her admiration wasn't too suspicious. The leather seats were Italian, almost looking custom stitched to the drivers liking. The dashboard was spotless and in perfect condition, an aftermath of a meticulous driver. And all the while, her hand had mindlessly reached out to graze the sleek frame on the handle of the door. "I wouldn't touch that," A deep and demanding tone suggested, "Not unless you want to keep that hand." Riley's mind was pulled back to the present, yanking her arm back as she cradled her wrist to her chest in shock. Her eyes darted from the car before her, to the gentleman approaching her from the right. Her feet remained paved to the road as he stopped a few feet from her, his thick brows angled downward and his green eyes narrowed at her in a threatening glare. He was seething at the idea of someone else handling his car besides him. "Didn't your mother ever teach not to touch what isn't yours?"

Riley eyed him specualtively, he couldn't have been much older than her. His leather jacket was snug over his curved shoulders, his body both muscular and tall. Riley ground her teeth together at that comment, "My mother taught me a lot of things," she sneared, "like not to talk to strangers." She kept a firm stance, knowing she should have just apologized and fled. But something about his approach made her defend her actions.

It was him that broke their direct line of sight first, looking down before shaking his head with a humorless laugh. "But attempting to steal a car is just fine?" He accused, a slight hint of humor now gracing his voice. For the amount of stress he'd taken on lately, this seemed to ease the tension off his burdened shoulders. And as the girl before him flustered for an explanation, he took a second to let his curious eyes take her in.

Despite their town being overcast, she held a pretty decent tan. Her hair was the same shade as the cocoa his grandmother use to make him when he was a child, but flecks of caramel streaks curled into delicate wisps over her chest. She was petite, so fragile looking that he was sure a strong gust of wind could carry her away. But he was wrong. Beneath her peachy complexion were muscles from years of track. And the beauty mark between her nostril and plump lips was only visibly because of the slight tilt of her head, casting a dark shadow along the curved tip of her nose. Her cheeks were full but her jawline slim, her hazel eyes defensive and her brows arched. "I wasn't going to steal it," she exclaimed, "can't a girl just admire a car in an empty parking lot?" Riley crossed her arms over her chest as the man took another small step forward.

His onyx colored hair was ruffled and his cheeks cast in five o'clock shadow. He looked exhausted, but none the less, he played along with her in a steeled manner. "There are ways to admire something without looking suspicious." He reminded, shifting his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. They began to tremble, and even after all this time he still had moments of weakness beneath the curved fullness of the moon above. He watched as her cheek rose stiffly, her teeth glittering as she looked back to his Camaro. "Don't get too attached," he suggested, "It's not for sale."

A sarcastic huff of air escaped her throat. "Good." Riley commented. "I'd never be able to afford this thing anyway."

He kept his own stance firm and rigid, hoping his curt manner would make her move along. Derek Hale had more to worry about than a teenage car enthusiast. Allowing his eyes to stray away from her, he glanced around the deserted parking lot in misunderstanding. They were the only two remaining. He clenched his teeth, his brows knitting together, surely she wasn't stupid enough to be walking home this late at night? "Headed home?" He finally asked, trying not to notice the way her hands tightened around the strap of her purse. Did this girl finally realize how alone they were? How he could easily mug her if he wished. He could see the goosebumps rise along her arms, her shoulders quivering from the cold. "Where's your car?" He asked, keeping his tone soft and careful once he could sense she'd become uneasy. "A girl like you must have impeccable taste in automobiles."

And it worked, because her comfort level retracted back to a fairly manageable position. "I know a nice car when I see one." She agreed.  
It felt almost odd to him, to be stranded in a parking lot with a girl a few years younger than him, and not feel irritated. It had been years since he allowed himself the openness of speaking so freely and direct to a complete stranger. He knew better than that, but he couldn't help himself.

Just when he thought he had the final word, she was witty enough to one up him every time. "Perhaps I'll suspiciously admire yours in return?" He quipped.

Riley bit her cheek, trying not to let an embarrassed expression cross over her features. What would he think if he found out her car had gotten repossessed just a few weeks prior? Of course he wouldn't have known, because he was not aware of the situation she'd left behind. "There's nothing admirable about public transportation." She laughed once through her nose, feeling the cold wind bite at her heated cheeks.

Derek's expression seemed to change, rolling his eyes internally at her statement. "The buses have stopped running by now." He acknowledged with a firm nod. But something about her expression ensured him that she was well aware of that fact. "Don't tell me you're walking home?" He finalized, his eyes widening in outrage when she simply shrugged. "Have you not heard about the animal attacks?"

This girl had no clue about the dangers that lurked in the shadows. She was oblivious to the chaos that idled on every street corner. Derek Hale was well aware of the kind of monster that roamed the town, and how appealing it felt like to think of sinking it's teeth into her flesh. And that troubled him severely, to see her standing before him and then thinking about waking up in the morning to see her picture on the news, the headline indicating that another person fell victim to the vicious predators stalking Beacon Hills. He was so well aware of the unmeasurable suffering this town could bring, and despite hating this town and all of it's simple reminders of what he'd lost, he could not bring himself to not care about it's occupants.

To want to be the one saving people, even when this town turned it's back on his own family. But he could hear the words of his recently deceased sister, Laura, 'You shouldn't need a reason to help people, Derek. It's been ingrained into who you are'. And his sister had been right. Even after the torment this town had offered him, he was still the same person he was years ago. He still cared about the lives of people surrounding him, especially when they were as innocent as hers. He retracted his keys from his pocket, taking three sudden large steps forward as he opened the driver side door. "Get in." He demanded without looking at her.

Riley faced him as he slipped into his seat and dug his key into the ignition. Her feet remained planted on the asphalt, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression unsure. Derek Hale revved his engine twice before looking toward her through his open window. "Get. In." His tone was demanding, making the hairs on the back of her neck straighten briefly. She hadn't even known him a full ten minutes, and he was already asking her to get in his car. What were with the people in this town and being so bold?

She didn't immediately say no, but something told her that perhaps she shouldn't say yes either. "I'd rather walk, actually." She confessed as she shifted from one foot to the other, her boots crunching against the debris along the pavement.

Derek shook his head, squaring his jaw to keep himself calm and collected. "I said get in." He murmured, feeling the anger from the rising moon fuel his temper. "I'm not going to ask you again." He could feel the deliberation collecting in her frame, trying to pinpoint an action that wouldn't settle well with her. "Or you can walk home," he reminded carefully, "If you even make it that far."

His threat seemed to put a rise in her. "What does that mean?" She snarled.

"It means," he huffed without humor, "good luck defending yourself against a mountain lion, Dumbass." 'Good luck trying to defend yourself against an Alpha', he relayed internally. He hadn't meant to be so vulgar, but her stubbornness was getting on his very last nerve. And his name calling drew her back, scoffing at his audacity as she glared at him through his open car window. "Last chance." Riley bit her lip, turning her head to the side as she scanned the deserted parking lot again. Her eyes trailed even further out past the sidewalk, skimming over the darkened tree line of the woods across the street. 'What could be hiding in there?', she wondered to herself.

And as she weighed her options, she came to the main conclusion. The abrasive man behind the wheel made her cower in discomfort, but the idea of a lurking lion made her cower in fear.

Clunking her boots furiously against the pavement, she made her decision. Stomping towards the passenger side door, Derek let out a sigh of relief as she slipped into the cab of his warm car. He hated that this girl made him flustered, even worse is that she made him care. Why was it his responsibility to make sure she got home okay? What possessed him to care enough to drive her home? He waited, watching from his peripheral as she buckled herself into her seat and shifted as far as she could from him. 'Good', Derek thought, 'you should be afraid of me'. "Where to?" He asked, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in a crisp whiff of her scent. It was honey and lavender, embedding itself into the interior of his Camaro and the back of his mind. He could feel the hatred already rising for the girl fidgeting in his presence, hearing the crack of her knuckles as she relayed directions.

A moment of tension passed as Derek headed to her destination, his knuckles craning against his skin as he tightened his hold on the steering wheel. He tried to watch the road, but couldn't help that his eyes shot nervous glances to her from his peripheral every few moments. "I don't recommend being out this late at night," he suggested carefully. "Not until they kill whatever's out there." 'Not until I kill whatever's out there', he thought boldly.

"Noted." Riley answered in return, taking his words into deep consideration.

And she didn't speak again the whole ride back, her fingers fidgeting with the lace at the end of her scarf to keep her mind preoccupied. But Derek couldn't do the same, he could not control his thought process as he allowed it to circulate around this one insignificant girl. 'Just this one time', Derek chanted in his mind, 'Just this one time and I'll never have to see her again'. He had much bigger things to worry about than to fluster himself with the idea of this stubborn High School student. Between keeping tabs on Scott McCall and the lurking monster that's been killing people over the past few weeks, he had more than enough to keep his mind off of her, but even now he could tell it would be hard, and that was what was so scary about being in her presence.

And after a few miles of silence, Riley prompted him to turn into her apartment complex and where to stop. Derek's foot idled on the break peddle, trying to relay the message to his hands to finally relax. His eyes roamed over the dark parking lot, deciding that it did not seem like a safe place for a girl like her. The building was put together so poorly, and for a moment he wondered why she lived here and who she lived with. Riley's hand idled on the door handle, pausing for a moment as she looked to him briefly. "I didn't catch your name." She concluded.

Derek's lip twitched for a second, then glanced to her with an insistent gleam within his eye. "That's because I didn't mention it." He responded, turning back to look out of the windshield so he wouldn't drown in the lavish hazel forest encircling her pupils. "And it's none of your business."

Riley's gaze dropped from his, looking down at her hands as she pursed her lips. "Well," she sighed, "Thank's for the ride, none of your business." She pulled the lever to the door then, shifting one leg out of the car before glancing to him one last time. "And in case you were wondering," she announced freely, "my name is Riley."

He didn't speak, but waited until her car door slammed to look back at her retreating form. Riley approached the stair well, taking the steps two at a time until she reached the second level, still completely viewable from the parking lot that he idled in. He waited until she placed her key into the deadbolt, and headed inside before he finally released the breath of air he'd been holding. "Riley." He let the name bubble softly from his lips, liking the way it slipped through his teeth.

It left a sweet taste in his mouth, one he knew would be hard to swallow.


	2. Stay in the Car

The on coming days held no relief as she struggled to settle into this new town. It felt repetitive; going to school, coming home, battling night terrors that one simply couldn't fathom and repeat. Wanting to lay as low as she possibly could while attempting to ride out the rest of her Junior year seemed far fetched the more she thought about it. How could she focus on her subjects when all she could do was continue to grieve? And just as she suspected, her teachers were not going to go easy on her.It was like they completely overlooked the fact that her mother had passed just shy of a month ago. Perhaps they thought Riley to be capable of more than she could handle, but she knew that at this moment she was not. It took everything out of her to wake up each morning. To force herself to get dressed, will herself to eat something--though most of the time her appetite was suppressed--and go to school. It seemed easy enough, for any typical teenager . . . But she was far from typical.

Riley could feel the school bus shift beneath her feet as it drove swiftly over a speed bump. It pulled her from her thoughts, biting her tongue each time the boy next to her bumped his knee to hers. Keeping her mouth shut, because she knew he was kind from the past few days she'd sat with him. It was hard to believe that someone as friendly as Danny Mahealani could be friends with Jackson Whittemore. It must have been true that jocks flocked together.

Keeping her headphones plugged into her ears, her mind began to wonder again.Back to last Friday night, when another person had shown her a great deal of kindness, despite his look of annoyance the whole ride back to her apartment. He'd given her an ultimatum, to get in his car or get mauled by whatever hunted in the shadows. Her own casual blindness to the fact that he could have so easily kidnapped her once she'd gotten into the passenger side seat of his Camaro was alarming now that she thought back on it.

Would it really have been so bad to walk home?

What were the chances of an animal attack?

Riley tried to ignore the memory of his glowering green eyes and callous tone, but found herself wondering why he cared in the first place. It wasn't his place to have looked after her that night. To go out of his way to ensure she got home safe. And after he'd called her a dumbass for even thinking of getting home on foot, she knew if she ever saw him again, that she would only return the favor with witty and cruel insults. The school bus came to a sudden halt, balancing her books within one arm evenly, Riley heard the gasps echo off the titanium frame as her fellow classmates rose from their seats suddenly. "Attention all students," the bus driver spoke into his speaker with a raspy voice, "Please proceed to your first hour classes immediately."

The scratch within his throat seemed unusual as Riley stood, inching onto her toes to see what is was that had put the rest of the students on edge. She could not see from her angle, shifting closer and closer to the exit of the bus as she could barely make out the detail of yellow caution tape. It was enclosed around a second school bus, her eyes transfixed on the deputy waiving his arms to signal the passing kids to continue briskly. Her feet stumbled once they landed on the dewy concrete, the frigid morning air created a ghosted breath to spill from her chattering teeth.

Hugging her jacket closer to her body, Riley's knees locked into place at the sight.

Beyond the crime scene tape was an isolated and parked school bus. The exit doors to the back of the bus facing her as they dangled from their hinges. She could see straight into the rear of it, the brown leather seats were shredded. But that wasn't what had caught her attention;it had been the blood splattered in deep contrast against the yellow school bus paint. It pooled in some areas, coagulating into chunks as the chilled air froze it into icicles along the bumper.

And suddenly all she could see was red. Even beginning to feel the metallic taste fill her throat.

Her hand covered her mouth instinctively, her legs breaking into unstable sprint. Her boots squeaked against the tiled floors of the school's building, feeling the bile begin to bubble within her stomach once she got closer to the women's restroom. The halls were partially vacant as students hurried to their first hour, most were eager to hear the details of the crime scene staged out front. Gnashing her teeth together as forcefully as she could, Riley felt the hot liquid fill her mouth just as she stormed into the first bathroom stall she saw. Her shoulders quaked as she kneeled before the toilet,throwing everything up that she'd digested the night before. A quiver ran through her, her eyes watering with bitter tears as she tried to forget the sight. She'd never been queasy when it came to blood, not until she'd had her mother's all over her hands.

Another round of vomiting came and went, trying to swallow the distinct memory of that as well.

The crime scene had triggered something within her, wiping her lips on the sleeve of her jacket before cautiously flushing the contents of her stomach away. With shaking legs, she stood for a moment to regain her composure as she tucked her hair back and away from her face.Feeling lightheaded at the thought, she knew why the blood had impacted her this way. It reminded her of just a few weeks prior when the rustic smell had been so distinct that it had embedded itself into her memory. The school bus massacre had nothing on her mothers murder.

With hesitant hands, she unlatched the stall door as she faced herself in the mirror above the sinks. Her reflection was wild and unrecognizable. She seemed distant and void of any emotion except for exhaustion. Her eyes were tired and her cheeks hallow, she did not appear to be the same girl she'd grown up eighteen years knowing. Clutching the strap upon her bag just a little bit tighter, she lowered eyes from the mirror and headed to French.

 

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Her classes felt longer than usual, but perhaps it was because of her extreme yearning for this day to be over. Because the sooner she got home, the sooner she could stop pretending like these past few weeks haven't caved in on her. To mask her grief enough to focus felt tiring and pointless. There was no silver lining in using her studies to distract her. And after heaving every last drop of bile within her stomach out before fourth period, she was tardy to Chemistry. Filing in late as the teacher narrowed his accusing eyes at her while continuing his lecture, Riley avoided Stiles persistent waive of his hand for her to sit beside him and his shaggy haired, uneven jawed friend, Scott. Distancing herself from people was not going to help her, but the lack of anxiety that usually came when being within close proximity of those two boys was relieving. She didn't have to invest herself into a situation that would only make her feel more hollow.

And once lunch rolled around, gathering her things as she hastily made an exit from the class, she could hear Stiles calling out for her to wait up. Approaching her locker with a hardened expression, the overactive spaz caught up to her with panting breaths. From her peripheral, she could see his goofy grin plastered over his freckled cheeks. His limbs were awkward, the teen was probably still unsure of just how lanky he really was. "You look sick." Was the first thing he said as his whiskey colored eyes raked over her paled features. And before she could respond, his lips puckered in slight disgust. "Oh God, you're not sick, are you?" His voice was smooth, but still erratic and quick. "It's the worst, isn't it? You never truly appreciate your ability to breathe until you get a stuffy nose. And then it's hard to eat anything, because you can't keep it down. And that's another thing!"He remarked, "You know that feeling you get right before you throw up? When the glands in the back of your mouth start to overproduce saliva . . ."

Riley's eyes closed, her fist gripping her locker as she began to feel exactly what he explained in great detail. Her throat swelled up, her mouth watering as if to lubricate her esophagus as the bile eased up her stomach inch by inch. Her lips quivered as a thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead. "Stiles?" She asked with a clenched jaw.

 _"Yeah?"_ He asked as he trailed off from his overactive imaginative thought process.

"Please, shut up." Riley swallowed the hot saliva gathering on her tongue with uneasiness.

"Okay."His lips popped together then, unsure of how to bridge the topic from something other than bodily fluids. That was part of his charm, rambling about useless information because his ADHD got the better of him. "Are you going to eat lunch with us today?" The idea of food made her neck twitch, but nodded her head despite feeling the sickness hitting her in waves.

And as the ventured towards the cafeteria, he continued to speak at forty miles an hour. His lips moved so fast, that she wondered briefly how his voice never got hoarse. The direction of his topic felt less threatening to Riley's health as she listened to him vent about his averaging grade in Math. He didn't just want to get by, he wanted to thrive in his school work to make his Sheriff of a father proud. Being the bench warmer for the lacrosse team wasn't necessarily something for his dad to brag about to his Deputies.

And so Stiles Stilinski tried to make up for what he lacked by being smart. Though he'd fallen behind on a few tests the past few weeks,for reasons he wasn't going to explain, he still knew he could raise his C's to A's if he put enough effort into it. "Are you free tonight?" He'd been rambling this whole time as she stood in line with him for food, opting for only a can of Sprite to help settle her stomach. His question caught her off guard, her eyes widening in confusion as he backtracked to explain. "We could have a study session at my house." He assured with innocent eyes. "Remember you said you'd tutor me?" She briefly remembered agreeing to that after he'd hounded her on her first day. "But only if you're feeling up for it." He continued as he loaded his lunch tray with a second helping of tater tots.

And despite the violent need to vomit all over again, she reluctantly agreed.

She wasn't sure why either. Because she could have easily declined and he wouldn't have given it a second thought until she felt better. Riley figured it was her subconscious way of not being alone. If she could commit to small things like this, it made her more normal. And right now, she felt anything but. What teenager came home from school to an empty home? What teenager relied solely on themselves for anything and everything? The predicament she was put in was anything but, and so she mindfully agreed to keep herself from becoming lonely.

The lunch room was crowded as she followed behind Stiles to their usual table. Scott McCall was already seated with a beautiful brunette by his side, Allison. Riley dragged the metal chair across the tile as she sat across from her, biting the inside of her cheek as Stiles opted to sit beside her. And as she popped the tab to her can of soda, Riley watched Scott's hand engulf Allison's atop the table. She ate delicately with the other hand, transfixed on her food for just a moment as Scott stared at her oddly.

His brown eyes were softly widened, his dimpled cheek slightly risen as he watched her with what seemed like a scared expression. Riley eyed his reaction carefully, his fist tightening around hers as if he were afraid he was going to lose her. Riley found it unusual, but lowered her eyes once Allison had caught her staring at their clasped hands. Her attention refocused as three other additions joined their table, seeing a pretty faced red head situate herself beside Scott, with her asshole of a boyfriend at the foot of the table.

"Did you guys see the blood fest this morning?" A voice chimed incomplete interest, turning her head to watch Danny take a seat on the other side of Stiles. His tanned cheeks were stretched over his brilliant smile. "It was pretty gnarly." He commented."Riley looked like she was going to puke." He remembered seeing her face go pale and her hands begin to shake. Every set of eyes landed on her as she skimmed her pinky finger around the lip of her can of soda. "Does anyone know what happened?"

Riley kept her head down, her foot bouncing against the tile as she became uncomfortable as the topic changed. From her peripheral vision, she could see Jackson shrug his leather clad shoulder. "I heard it was some kind of animal attack." He proposed as her jittery foot suddenly ceased mid bounce. Her mind immediately shot back to a few nights ago when that 'Cryptic Camaro Asshole' had mentioned her likely run in with something lurking within the shadows if she'd decided to walk home. "Maybe a mountain lion?" Jackson contemplated as he scraped his fork against his plate.

Not being able to help but remember the carnage of the crime scene, Riley looked to him incredulously. She hadn't spoken to him since she'd last called him out, but his ignorance seemed to appall her once more."You honestly think a mountain lion did that?" Her voice was demanding, her eyes shifting to the others seated around their table. Falling upon the boy across from her as Scott's head fell slightly, his shaggy hair covering his eyes. He seemed uneasy with their discussion for some reason. "Ripped a door off it's hinges and mauled somebody?"

"Did they say if the guy survived or not?" Lydia questioned with concern.

Jackson shot an annoyed look in Riley's direction, as if he was aggravated with her speaking out against him . . . Again. "Who cares?" He quirked a brow, stabbing his steamed broccoli with the spears on his fork. "The guy was probably some homeless tweaker." His insensitive nature irked Riley in the worst way, narrowing her eyes at him as he continued without a care. "He would have died sooner or later."

Feeling an out pour of anger flood her senses, her hands balled into fists within her lap. Jackson Whittemore was so unbelievably narcissistic and volatile by nature. It seemed unusual for the people sitting around her not to feel a waive of anger engulf them, but perhaps it was because they were use to his insensitivity. "Were you dropped on your head as a baby?" She snapped between gritted teeth. "Or is being an insensitive piece of shit part of your DNA?"

Her outburst surprised both Allison and Scott, their eyes widening as Jackson gripped the fork within his hand to suppress his own outlash. They eyed each other down in disbelief for what felt like a few long and dreadful seconds. Neither would look away first. And Riley waited for the snarky comment she knew was brewing within his conniving little head. His inability to think of a comeback fast enough caused a silent tension to flood their lunch table.

It was Lydia Martin who broke through their stare down with her dainty and soft voice. She flipped a piece of her strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulder as she spoke. "Can we talk about something less disturbing?" She begged, glaring at Jackson to calm down until his eyes pried away from Riley's. "Like what are we all doing tomorrow night?" Lydia leaned over her packed lunch to glance at Allison. "You said you and Scott were hanging out,right?"

Riley watched as the light left Scott's eyes, a humorous thing to watch as he stared at his girlfriend with wide eyes. "Ye--Yeah,"Allison stuttered as she tried to apologize to him silently for ruining their plans to have a night to themselves. "We're still not sure what we're gonna do." She insisted with apologetic eyes.

"Well," Lydia huffed as she glanced at her perfectly polished nails. "I'm not going to sit at home and watch lacrosse videos all night again," she looked to Jackson stiffly. "So if we're going to hang out, we're going to do something fun." It was more of a statement than it was a suggestion. Riley had a feeling that whatever Lydia Martin said goes.

"Hanging out?" Scott seemed wary of the idea of having to see Jackson anywhere outside of school, and to be honest, Riley couldn't blame him. "Like, all of us, together? A double date?" He did not like the idea one bit.

"Triple date." Lydia corrected. "Jackson and I, Allison and you, and. . ." she trailed off as she glanced to Stiles shoving an entire chicken strip into his mouth. "Him and Riley." She shrugged her shoulder as if it were that obvious, but it stunned Riley to hear anyone place her in a position of romance with someone she did not think of in that way. Side eyeing the kid next to her, he froze with his mouth agape and his chicken tender hanging from his lips.

Wanting to decline hastily, her own voice lumped within her throat. "A--A date?" Stiles questioned as if he hadn't heard Lydia say it the first time. It couldn't even be possible for him to like Riley as much as he liked the red head. He'd been head over heels for Lydia since the third grade. "Tha---that sounds great!" He exclaimed excitedly.

It was easy to have someone else suggest a date between both he and Riley, than it was for him to ask her himself. "You know what else sounds great?" Jackson made a snide comment as he raised his silverware, "stabbing myself in the eye with this fork." He'd rather inflict actual pain on himself than have to be in the company of any of the people that surrounded him.

Lydia snatched the fork from his hands, giving him a look that insisted he be nice. "How about bowling?" She recommended tentatively."You love to bowl!"

"Yeah,"Jackson huffed, "with actual competition."

Allison scoffed with extreme surprise. "How do you know we're not actual competition?" Pointing between both her and Scott. The shaggy haired kid seemed uncomfortable the longer this conversation went on."You can bowl, right?" She nudged her boyfriend casually.

Opening his mouth to speak, he became flustered. "Sort of . . ."

Becoming even more cocky than Riley thought possible, Jackson leaned his elbows on the lunch table as he looked to Scott with a challenging glare. "Now," he huffed, "is it sort of? Or yes?"Scott squirmed slightly beneath the jocks gaze, and that was exactly what made Jackson feel superior.

But Scott McCall would not let Jackson Whittemore win. "Yes." He finally muttered. "In fact," he formed his own ego around wanting to show the asshole up, "I'm a great bowler." His eyes narrowed in a challenging notion to him, the tension becoming thick once more as Lydia interrupted it.

"Then it's settled!" She clapped her hands together. "Triple date bowling night!" She seemed pleased with the plans for the following night, continuing on with time of arrival and so forth as Riley's mind finally caught up to reality.

She had already committed to tutoring Stiles, but a date was a little much. She looked to Stiles as a goofy grin plastered over his face. Of course he was happy, this was probably going in the direction he wanted. But for Riley, this was not going according to plan. "I'm going to have to bail." She cleared her throat as the table fell silent. With her eyes still on Stiles, she could visibly see the happiness leave his eyes.

"Ha!" Jackson spat, his eyes spewing venom in Stiles direction."Rejection's a bitch, isn't it?"

Riley felt a sense of pity flare within her bones as Stiles suffered at the butt of his joke. Collecting her temper, she nudged Stiles silently beneath the table. It was a quiet apology. "As much as I'd love to beat your ass at bowling," Riley gritted her teeth,"I start my new job at the Coffee Bean tomorrow night. Otherwise," she mentioned to help restore her friends self esteem, "Stiles and I wouldn't miss the chance to see you whine like a little bitch when you lose."

 

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Feeling extremely pleased with herself for the remainder of her classes, Riley couldn't help but hold her head a little higher than usual. Something about defending herself felt empowering. To stand up to a jerk that no one would dare cross was both idiotic and satisfying. Back in San Diego, Riley had mostly been quiet, kept her mouth shut when she should have spoken up and watched from the side lines. Maybe it was her most recent unfortune that made her defensive, but either way she appreciated the boost in confidence.

It was what she needed right now to feel normal. To act like nothing was eating away at her on the inside. Her mental health had been severely compromised this passed month or so, and to have a few minutes of unquestionable bravery made her shoulders feel lighter. Jackson was the typical rich kid whose parents never told him no. He drove a Porsche and wore expensive clothing. He thought he was better than everyone in every aspect. But wealth did not overcome wit, not when he was matched against Riley Haven.

After the month she'd had, she would not tolerate the inconceivable backlash from someone like him. Nor would she accept it being directed towards the minimal friends she'd made so far. Allison Argent was extremely kind and sympathetic. She showed gratitude and acceptance to everyone and everything. Riley could easily see herself becoming fast friends with the Sophomore easily. Everybody liked Allison it seemed like. It felt impossible to look into her glossy doe--like eyes or see the shallow dimples form on her squared cheeks when she smiled and not be compelled to grin back in return.

Scott McCall was still a mystery. He was quiet most of the time, but Riley had a hunch that there was something more to him. He was patient with people, a characteristic not a lot of people had. He seemed detached at some points, like his mind was wandering into the deep unknown. He looked anxious and stressed at nearly all hours of the day. He hadn't always been like this, but some rather recent happenings had put him on edge. But none the less, Riley figured he was a good match for Allison.

Riley wouldn't label Lydia Martin, Beacon Hills most notorious red--head, as a friend quite yet. Especially since she's dissed her boyfriend on two separate occasions. The Sophomore was out spoken and committed to impressing as many people as she could. Despite acting as if she wasn't knowledgeable on most topics, Riley had a feeling that Lydia was a lot smarter than she lead people to believe. Perhaps she was playing a part; dressing immaculate without a single strawberry blonde curl out of place.

And then there was Stiles Stilinski, who Riley could see now as she headed for the parking lot as the final bell rang. Through the swarm of kids clustering the side walk, eager to get home, she couldn't miss him standing at the foot of his old and baby blue Jeep. He looked nervous as he paced, even going as far as to check his reflection in his side mirror. Seeing him do that made a lump of guilt settle within her stomach. It wasn't that hard to tell that he liked her, but then again he would have fallen head over heels for any girl that gave him the time of day.

He was clumsy and erratic, but despite the overall lankiness of his frame, Riley could tell his arms had definition. He was strong and lean for a sixteen year old boy. He used sarcasm to often surpass his inability to communicate with ease, often stumbling over his words or rambling. Regardless of all that, he was gentle and timid. His low self esteem came from years of always being picked last.

Stiles wandering eyes caught hers through the crowd, raising an elongated arm above his head as he waived her over to meet him. Unsure of how the study session would go, she accepted the fact that his lack of focus may make it harder to tutor him. He was fiddling with the sleeve of his green plaid shirt when she made it to him, that ridiculous smile engulfing almost the entire lower half of his face. "You ready?" He asked as they parted their ways at the hood of the car to their respected side doors.

She nodded as she tried to force the same level of excitement into her own grin. She knew it didn't come out the same way his did, but it was the thought that count. "I hope you're hungry," she mentioned sarcastically, "Because I'm going to shove this textbook down your throat by the end of today." Stiles wasn't sure if it was a threat, but either way, he looked at the hard covered book in her lap and accepted his fate without protest.

Swallowing the guilt that idled in the back of his mouth, he felt ashamed for lying to her. Stiles was exceptionally well at math and didn't require any tutoring. He hoped that this cover up would be an opportunity to get to know her better. He switched the ignition with a swift flick of his wrist, pulling from the parking space as Riley stared down at her hands. She silently hoped that his father, the Sheriff, would be home when they got there. Just in case he tried to stray off the topic of their studies. He didn't seem like the kind of kid that dripped in enough confidence to be ballsy enough to try anything, but either way, Riley wouldn't be opposed to shoving her foot down his throat instead. Her plan for assault was short lived as she felt the Jeep jerk to a sudden stop. "Jesus Christ!" Stiles hissed under his breath. Clawing at her seat belt as she re-steadied herself, a heavy breath collected in her lungs as she looked at the boy in the drivers seat.

His eyes were wild and his mouth agape. Gripping the steering wheel with tight hands as he looked out past the windshield with unfathomable panic. Following his line of sight, her own gaze trailed out past the glass before her and to the parking lot of the school. They hadn't even gotten two feet away from the parking spot when someone had stopped in front of the car. "Dammit, Derek." He muttered in an aggravated tone.

Standing at the hood of the Jeep, with a staggered frame and outstretched hand was a man. His skin was pale in contrast to his dark leather jacket. His features were familiar, the shadow of his closely shaved jaw line wouldn't have been hard to recognize. But it was the eyes, both striking and hooded. The man made no attempt to move out of the way as half a dozen cars lined up behind the Jeep to exit. Their horns began honking and all Riley could do was remain frozen in her seat.

It was the same guy from a few nights prior. Stiles had called him Derek.

And as he stumbled in the street, she watched with confused and concerned eyes as he collapsed to the asphalt below. Stiles groaned, turning to her quickly as he unbuckled his seat belt. "Do me a favor?" It was not a question. "Stay in the car." He exited the drivers seat and slammed his door, a brisk pace to his feet as Scott McCall came running to help from where he'd been stanced at the bike racks up ahead. The two Sophomores leaned down beside Derek, blocking her view as she tried to see what was happening.

The irritation in Stiles' voice suggested that he knew him. And by the way Scott had sprinted to his aid, he did as well. Ignoring her friends suggestion to stay put, Riley got out of the Jeep then too. Bystanders watched from the side walk, wondering just what all the commotion was about. But Derek, who now had a name besides 'Asshole',was in a seated position, clutching his left arm to his chest. Staying beside her opened car door, she could see between the two teenagers shoulders now.

Derek's full brows were pinched together in concentration, his jaw squared together tightly as he gnashed his teeth to suppress the pain. What was he doing here, she thought quietly to herself. And as she traced her eyes over his pearly white teeth, up and over his angled nose and up to his green eyes, she caught him glaring at her before clamping his eyelids shut. He too recognized her from the night he drove her home. Scott looked over his shoulder then, seeing Riley standing just a mere five feet away. His expression was panicked and his tone suggestive. "Get back in the car." He did not demand it the way Stiles had, his voice was still soft yet distinctly anxious. Riley's limbs were locked, standing on her toes to get a better view of Derek. He seemed to be in pain and she wondered if he needed medical attention.

And despite the horns blaring from behind her, she could hear the three of them speaking in solid and low whispers. "I can't control it." Derek seethed between his teeth in a pained whisper.

"What should we do?" Stiles prompted, looking to his best friend for answers.

It took a moment for Scott to decide, running a quick hand through his tousled curls before a deep sigh sifted through his lips. "Take him to Deaton's."

"Why me?" Stiles huffed in a high pitched whine. "I can't just take him there! I've got Riley riding with me."

Her brow furrowed as they discussed her in hushed tones. "Then. Let. Her. Walk." Derek insisted with a hefty and angry voice. Riley felt her throat swell as his spoke of her as if she were easy to get rid of. He hadn't been saying that a few nights ago. In fact, he'd insisted on her getting into his car so that she would get home safely. Why was his concern so twisted now?

"Absolutely not." Stiles argued in return.

Scott intervened then, "I can't just carry him on my bike."

Stiles tilted his head as if to beg to differ. "In all honesty, you probably could." He reminded him with a knowing look. "You know," his hands raised upward as they curled into claws,"Werewo--"

"Stiles!" Scott plead.

Riley strained her ears, leaning forward as their bodies clouded her view of Derek. "Fine." The 'Cryptic Camaro Asshole' sighed with a tense breath, "Take her home and we'll meet Scott there." From what Riley could tell, he was now looking pointedly to her shaggy haired friend. "I need you to get the bullet." He whispered slowly.

Scott seemed frustrated now as he hooked his arm under Derek's shoulder, lifting him to his feet as Stiles wrapped his arm around his waist. "You expect me to find one bullet?" He demanded. "That's like trying to find a needle in a haystack!"

Watching as the two boys steadied him, Riley could visibly see just how weak he looked. His skin paled as a thin sheen of sweat covered his exposed neck. "Then you better start looking." He retorted in a persuasive and breathy tone. "Because I'll die without it." Stiles then took over, all but dragging his stumbling body to the left side of the car as he helped him into the back seat.

Her eyes remained on Scott, watching a he hurriedly sprinted back to his bike and pedaled off quickly. Jumping back into the drivers seat, Stiles motioned from her to get back in. Reluctantly she conformed and kept her eyes forward as he slammed his foot onto the gas. "There's just a slight change of plans." He mentioned with apology. "I'm going to take you home, okay?" His actions were forced and erratic, knowing his heart was pounding away inside of his chest as he idled on the verge of a panic attack.

Looking to him briefly, feeling too scared to look over her own shoulder at the guy crumpled in pain in the back seat. "What's going on?" She asked in a small voice, nodding her head slightly in Derek's direction. Her eyes were wide with worry, her lips parted in concern."Is he okay?"

Stiles hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line as he thought of a believable lie. "What? Him?" He thrust his thumb over his shoulder as he pointed at the guy in the back seat. Riley nodded, finally able to briefly flick her gaze in his direction. "Oh, he's fine!" Stiles replied back optimistically, trying to discourse her assumptions. "He's just my cousin . . ." He trailed off, raking his brain for more lies ," . . . My cousin, Miguel."

"Miguel?" Riley rose a surprised brow.

"Mhm." Stiles nodded, keeping his eyes tethered to the road. "He's got food poisoning." He used his sarcastic charm to waive off the severity of the situation. He looked into his rear view mirror, making a show out of directing his attention to the guy situated behind him. "I told you not to eat the sushi, didn't I?" He recalled, trying hard to cover something up. He grinned slightly, trying to hide his quivering lip as he nudged Riley. "He has a low tolerance for raw fish."

With caution, she turned her head slightly to glance back at him too. Riley had had food poisoning before, never having seen it to this extreme. "Are you sure he's okay?" She asked again, noticing just how much resistance the guy put in to not looking her way. "Should we call someone? I don't know, like, an ambulance?" Stiles was shaking his head before she could even finish.

"Not necessary." He assured. "Derek's got a very fast metabolism. He'll be fine in no time."

Riley squinted to her friend in the drivers seat with confusion. "I thought you said his name was Miguel?"

And before her eyes, she could see him start to fumble for an explanation. A cover up. Another lie. Riley wasn't stupid, she was able to clearly make out the stutter in his explanation. "Oh, uh. . ." He trailed off, his thumbs drumming against the steering wheel anxiously. "Yep, I did say that." He concluded. "Miguel is his real name," he tried to rectify his mistake, "but, umm . . . He prefers to go by Derek." He shrugged his shoulder casually, pleased with his explanation. "He hates the name Miguel. Hates it. Like absolutely loathes--"

"Shut.Up." Derek finally groaned from the back seat, feeling a migraine pierce his skull every time the spaz opened his mouth. Riley fully turned then, surprised to hear him finally say something. The irritation on his face was clearly view able, his brows scrunched together in an attempt to tolerate the pain radiating through him. "Just take her home already."

Appalled by his obvious lack of respect, narrowing her eyes at his index finger that remained pointed in her direction. "I suggest you put that finger down," Riley snarled, finding his manners both rude and disrespectful, "Unless you want me to shove it up your--"

"Hey!" Stiles rose a hand to clear the air. "Let's just all calm down, okay?" His foot remained pressed against the gas pedal, weaving through the streets with disrupted attention. "They'll be no shoving of any kind," he relayed in a ramble, "Or any place--"

"Oh,shit!" Riley screeched suddenly, her eyes fixated on a thick trail of blood seeping from beneath his sleeve and onto his wrist. Stiles steered his eyes from the road for a second, leaning over to see what it was that made her so concerned, when he too caught sight of it.

He turned back to face the road, looking back and forth between the windshield and Derek's reflection. "Don't you dare bleed out on my seats!" He muttered, somehow more on edge than he was before.

And all the while, Riley kept her eyes carefully set on Derek. This was something worse than she could have imagined. "Stiles," she urged in a persuasive manner, "we need to get him to a Hospital."

"What we need," he emphasized, "is to get you home." He nodded to himself, as if to physically agree with the decisions he made within his own head. "What's your address?" Biting her lip, she sat back within her seat, folding her arms across her chest to let him know that she was not going to just let this go. Her dead silence spoke for it's self, squaring her jaw to signify her resistance. "Ry," he sighed, "C'mon?"

Shaking her head, she rose an accusatory hand in Derek's direction. "Someone's literally dying in your backseat," Riley reminded him with a sour tone, "Do you honestly think I'm stupid?"

"No!" Stiles defended. "Absolutely not!"

And with demanding features she remarked, "Then stop lying to my face."

He fell silent for a moment, feeling trapped between the truth and what she considered a lie. These secrets were not his to tell, glancing to Derek's reflection in the rear view mirror, she could see him shake his head sternly. Derek could sense that Stiles was about to break ,feeling an immeasurable amount of pain collect within his bones as he looked to Riley. She had her eyes strapped on Stiles, someone he could see she considered a friend.

She was a lot sharper than he gave her credit for. That first night he'd met her, he thought of her as a young and naive dumbass that had no idea of the darkness that lurked within Beacon Hills. Seemingly unafraid of it's shadows, he could tell that she would not be the kind of person to let something like this go. She'd seen too much already. But there was this undeniable drive that rested within her, something he noticed the minute she defended her right to the truth. People like her were hard to come by. People who could see things for what they truly were.

For someone her age, Derek knew she was wise. Life lessons had taught her to be someone better, be someone smarter, stronger and more careful. He could see it now. He hadn't before. And with all he'd learned from his own struggles and achievements, he recognized the same level of stubbornness come from her that resided within him. And the only way to beat stubbornness was with even more stubbornness. And so Derek opened his mouth to say the only thing that would dissolve this issue and move them forward.

He remembered her address from that night, relaying it to Stiles with a confident and hard tone.

Realizing that remembering something as detailed as her apartment number was a bit stalker--ish, he sat back in his seat, diffusing the hateful stares that Riley shot at him in silence. She could think what she wanted of him, because he had no real intention of seeing her again after this. Stubborn people like her were dangerous to have in a community like Beacon Hills. They'd never stop searching for answers, and if they ever got them, they wouldn't like the result.

Riley remained in her seat, heated by the frustration of having her operation compromised. She had rights as both a friend and a passenger to know what was happening, and as Stiles pulled into her apartment complex, she feared that maybe she'd never find out. Biting her lip, she rounded up her belongings before opening the car door."If he dies," Riley mentioned with aloofness, "I get his Camaro."

A huff sounded from the backseat, "Not a chance in He--"Derek's voice became muffled as she slammed the door to the Jeep, letting them both know by her silence that she was angry. But even with the disappointment she felt from being lied to, a small and annoyed smile lined her lips as she headed up the stairs to the second floor. Riley did not look back at them as she walked, hoping to herself that the 'Cryptic Camaro Asshole' would feel better soon.

 

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Not having been able to sleep, she found herself lying awake until the early hours of the next morning. Tossing and turning as her mind tried to theorize what it was that had happened yesterday. Wanting to be mad at the both of them, she found herself pitying them instead. There was clearly a bigger picture here. Something they couldn't trust her with knowing. But the thing about Riley was that she was persistent in her attempts and would not allow this to slip from her thoughts. Dragging herself through the school hallways, finding it irritating that some students could have so much pep at an hour like this, she drowned out their loud voices as she slipped her headphones in. Knowing it was inevitable to not run into Stiles today, she figured that giving him the cold shoulder would teach him that she doesn't take lying lightly.

Rummaging through her locker after third period, she knew the next hour of Chemistry would be interesting. And just as she suspected, Stiles approached her as he always did before their class. Keeping her eyes strained on her locker door, she could feel him standing beside her. From her peripheral vision, she could see his lips moving at a rapid pace. He could explain himself all he wanted, but it still would not eliminate the disdain she felt for him right now.

Without even a glance in his direction, she shut her locker door and proceeded to Chem.

He followed behind, able to feel him on her heels as he presumably continued apologizing. She didn't want an apology, she wanted the truth. And as they took their seats in class, wanting to sit as far away from where both he and Scott usually sat, she was surprised to see him follow to a seat beside her instead of his best friend. And as the warning bell sounded, Riley removed the headphones from her ears in preparation of today's lesson. ". . . I know you're mad at me," he continued his ramble, able to hear his voice now, "And you'll probably hate me and that's fine, but there are just some things that are better left--"

"Stilinski." Mr. Harris voiced, perched at the front of the class. "I'd like to remind you that a class room is for learning," he reminded, "not for spreading gossip. If I even hear a peep out of you that isn't Chemistry related, I will give you detention everyday until you graduate. Am I clear?"

Hearing Mr. Harris threaten him made her crack a smile, hiding it quickly by pressing her lips into a firm line. "No--I mean yes, Sir!" He stammered, feeling the weight of the teachers words. "You won't hear a word from me," he promised as he pretended to zip his mouth shut, "Unless it's topic related." Stiles nodded at his own words, waiting until the appropriate time to plant his elbows on his desk and raise two fists into the air. "Go, Chem!"He whisper--yelled, proving to be a bigger pain on the ass than Harris could have bargained for.

Rolling her eyes, Riley retrieved her notes for the class and returned her attention to the lecture.

Not sure who to thank for the promising silence of the boy sitting beside her, she felt relieved to be able to spend this hour without hearing his constant apology. And all though Stiles promised to keep his mouth closed, that didn't deter him from scribbling across a piece of paper, folding it up nice and crisp and lightly tossing it on her desk. The note landed on her text book, eyeing it in complete aggravation as she turned her head slightly to glare at him.

'Open it', he mouthed, no trace of sound coming from his lips.

And despite her better judgement, she did so out of annoyance more than anything. 'Sorry for yesterday!', he wrote in a rushed scrawl. She wanted to believe him, but to be honest, she still didn't know him all that well. For all Riley Haven knew, Stiles could be a pathological liar.

Without hesitating this time, she wrote back in a defensive manner. 'If you're truly sorry, you'll tell me what really happened.' Riley crumpled up the paper and tossed it back to him silently.

She could hear a defeated sigh sound from his lips as he read it over. 'Just trust me on this, okay? It's better if you don't know.' Is what he'd written back before discreetly planting it back on her desk.

Wanting to initiate the subject change, Riley replied, 'How do you even know Derek?'

'I could ask you the same thing.' Stiles challenged in return. With a humph, Riley tossed it back at him without replying, feeling accused when it was Stiles who had a lot of explaining to do. He took the note back without protest, jotting something else down before giving it back. 'Looks like I'm not the only one hiding something.' His statement was brief and crucial to Riley's understanding.

'I hate you.' Was all she responded, but the flicker of defeat crossed within her features.

Stiles replied, 'I'm sorry you feel that way. The 'I hate Stiles' club meets on Thursdays after school.'

Reading his sarcastic insult to himself made her lip raise, allowing just the smallest sliver of a grin to smooth over her lips. He had a way of choosing the right way to make peace, all though he usually had to make someone the butt of a joke to do so. Stiles took her raised lip as a sign, giving her the biggest puppy--dog eyes he could manage. "Does that mean you forgive me?" He questioned.

"Stilinski!" Mr. Harris stopped his lecture mid sentence. "Would you like to read that note out loud for the class?" He eyed the piece of paper propped on Stiles desk.

With a panicked expression, Stiles shook his head before crumpling the paper into a smaller ball and popping it into his mouth. "What note?" He argued with a forced voice. Mr. Harris rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath to regain his composure after wishing he could drop this particular student from his class for the thousandth time.

 

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The rest of her day progressed and slowly as it possibly could. Feeling the weight of her sleepless night, she found herself finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. During her sixth hour class, her mind began to wander as the class watched a generic video on the history of World War II. As she sat in the closest seat to the window, she couldn't help herself as her head fell into her palm, her gaze enveloped by the bright afternoon sun. She may have accepted Stiles apology, but that didn't mean he was off the hook.

Wondering how it was that Scott and Stiles came to know Derek, she came to find that maybe it wasn't her business after all, but what had happened in the moments leading up to her arrival home was. She'd been there in the flesh, experienced it with her own eyes, and was still coerced into believing a false perception of the truth. Maybe Stiles wasn't to blame to begin with. Maybe the lies had something more to do with Derek. And her anger flooded back in waves, remembering his pained and twisted features. Remembering the blood pooling in his palm, the incoherent--ness of his eyes. And all while coming up with excuses to justify what happened, she'd somehow fallen asleep. Finding a form of relief as her once burning and irritated eyes found a glimmer of rest.

Her restless muscles molded to her desk in a comfortable way, wishing she could sit like this for hours. Her minutes of ease came to halt, feeling a growing pressure against her shoulder as Riley stirred from her sleep. "Ms. Haven," her History teacher murmured as dozens of her classmates eyed her with amusement. "I have a strict policy on sleeping in class and this isn't your first offence. Go ahead and make your way to the Principles office, he'll be expecting you."

With flushed cheeks and embarrassed strides, Riley Haven headed for the hallway.

Still able to hear the taunting giggles of her classmates echo inside her head, she dragged her sleep deprived body towards the front office. It was true that it had been her second offence in a week, but she wished he could have been a bit more lenient with her. Didn't he know that her mother just passed away? She wished she didn't feel like she was owed time to recuperate, but that was still the main reason behind her sleepless nights.

The hallway was void of any traffic, just the sound of her own boots clunking against the tiles floors. Making her way forward as leisurely as she could, knowing she was in no rush to be in trouble. What was the worst they could do? Give her detention? Riley thought back to when she'd lived in San Diego, how she'd been excelling at her studies. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been just over a month. It didn't seem possible to have that kind of dedication again.

Riley rounded the corner to the hallway of the locker rooms, a longer detour to ride out her punishment. And as she continued on her path, a man approached her from the opposite side of the hall. She eyed him incredulously, "Well hello, Sunshine." she hummed with irritation, "It looks like you got all your beauty sleep last night." Her voice was laced with sarcasm. Coming face to face for a third time with Derek. His hands were tucked away inside the pockets of his leather jacket, his thin lips curved softly at the corner.

His skin was clear and rosy again. The glimmer within his green eyes were like the first time she met him, the dark and hooded skin around his lids were bright and enlightening. She paused just before him, squinting up to look at him to appear sarcastic. "All eight hours." He assured, a cocky expression crossing over his face. "Can't say the same for you." He pointed out with humorous and stern tone. He rose his hand then to point at the dark circles forming under her eyes. "You need some help carrying those bags?"

Derek wasn't the type to make a joke, and after it had slipped from his mouth he didn't understand where it had even come from. Humor was for people who let their guard down, and he couldn't allow that. Not with everything that was going on in his life. A single second without it meant vulnerability. "Ha Ha Ha." Riley's expression dropped, becoming unimpressed with his words as she smacked his hand away from her face. It had been the first time they'd made contact as she redirected the subject. "What the hell are you even doing here? I think you missed your graduation by seven years."

He looked out of place in a high school, too mature to blend in with even the Seniors. A satisfied huff of air escaped his nostrils, trying not to break his hard exterior with the grin that threatened to collect on his cheeks. She was witty, Derek would give her that. His back tensed then as the door to the boys locker room opened, and Riley watched as Jackson Whittemore scurried frantically down the opposite end of the hall in which Derek had come. "I had a little business to attend to." He mentioned rather cryptically.

Riley waited until the jock was out of sight, having a feeling that he was somehow afraid of the guy standing before her. "Typically I'm against bullying," she assured as she pointed towards the hallway after Jackson's quick escape, "But I hate that kid. So feel free to beat him up, steal his lunch money or whatever." Again, Derek found it relatively hard to suppress the chuckle rising up his throat, but cleared it just before it could spill from his mouth.

"You should get going," he recommended then, "You're already in enough trouble as it is." And without mentioning anything else, he bypassed her in a single step and continued on towards the exit to the parking lot. It took her a moment to understand, wondering how it is that he knew she was headed for the Principle. She hated that he infuriated her so much. That he could easily spoil something with one word. What did it sat about her, that Derek both enthralled and irritated her? She re--adjusted her shoulder strap then, heading for the office before her tardiness added another day to her detention.


	3. The Alpha

Spending the next week keeping to herself mostly, Riley used this time to focus on what was most important. Trying to maintain a healthy balance of grief, mental illness and one's self, she found it hard not to sink into her old ways. Wanting to stop the pity she held for herself, and be able to continue to feel something other than remorse. It was harder than it looked like, wanting to be the same person she was before the trauma of losing her mother had taken over. There wasn't a day, an hour or even a minute that went by that she didn't mourn the misfortune of what she's lost. Wishing her father would step up to help bridge the gap between their family. Or even her sister, wondering where it was that she rested her head at night. Neither had returned home to help her start again, and a part of her hated them for that. A part of her hated herself for still wanting them back despite having left in the first place.

What she wanted right now was family. To not come home to an empty apartment everyday.

And in a way, her week of detention helped her. Staying late to fulfill the punishment kept her from being alone between four walls. This was better for her, to be somewhat present and alive instead of wishing it were her instead of her mother. Wanting something better for herself felt vain and selfish, so she started with baby steps. Using her detention time to complete her assignments and blowing off all of her pent up anger by utilizing the schools gym. Just like tonight, after leaving her final detention as she headed for the locker room. Riley dressed mechanically, mentally preparing herself for the enclave of released aggression. Clad in her compression leggings and sports bra, she headed for the work out room. She wondered briefly how she didn't think of this before, using her own body to beat the stress out of her head.

It was a hell of a lot safer than allowing herself to grieve and become entrapped by her own thoughts.

Starting with her stretches, Riley took her time to prepare her body.Straining her calves and loosening her joints to keep them from locking up afterward. And as she continued on with her routine, her thoughts drifted to Derek. A touchy subject that she still didn't quite understand. Her infatuation with him was moderate, nothing to suggest that it had now become an obsession. Something about it therapeutic, perhaps thinking of his face while driving her fists into a punching bag meant something different?

On the few occasions she'd seen him, he always seemed to be even more mysterious than before. Obvious that he had secrets, because to be honest, who didn't have their own vast collection of skeletons in their closet? But it felt different. His snide comments and threatening glares felt more like a mask than they were a personal attack. In the time that it took her to do fifty--seven sit up's, Riley had established that she wasn't so sure he had a nice side.

And if he did, would she ever see it?

Or was he always like that? Always so cold and insensitive.

There was something about his stare, the way his eyes bored into hers as if doing so would make her disappear. Someone must have hurt him, Riley theorized. Someone must have really destroyed him for him to be so hard. Maybe that's what they had in common, a personal void so bitter that it made them both numb. But perhaps Derek's void could swallow Riley whole, that's how big it was.

And as she took a second to swish her ice cold water around inside her mouth, Riley made a point within her mind to find out more about him. So that maybe she could rationalize his actions without having to judge him for them.

Riley craned her neck from side to side, finishing her workout almost fifteen minutes early as she headed back to the locker room. While deciding to leave her backpack in her locker overnight, she grabbed her jacket with every intention of jogging the three miles home. It was late now, checking her phone as it rounded to nearly nine at night. And as she stretched her arms through her jacket, the school's intercom crackled to life. Her brows furrowed in misunderstanding, her eyes zeroing in on the intercom stationed on the far wall of the locker room. For a few moments, there was nothing but static. It sizzled quietly until a loud gurgle sifted through it's speakers. It was a whining noise, much like a siren as Riley secured her things within her locker, placing her phone within the padding of her sports bra and headed out into the hallway.

The halls were darkened now, hours after closing as she sifted through them carefully. She had no immediate evacuation planned, but paused as soon as she heard the intercom buzz to life once more. There was a moment of tension, hugging her jacket closer to her frame, although it remained unzipped. A low and deep rumble filtered through this time, leaving the hairs on the back of Riley's neck to stand prominent. A chill swept through her, her teeth chattering as a guttural howl echoed off the metal locker frames.

And without even realizing it, she broke into a sprint.

Her long legs stretched one after the other as her heart lurched into her throat. Whatever that sound was, it hadn't sounded human. Feeling an ache form against her side, she ignored it until she could see the double doors leading to the front exit of the school up ahead. Bounding forward quickly, Riley felt safer once the cold night air grasped at her bare skin, her chest heaving with adrenaline. A feeling of relief flooded her veins once the sound of the doors closing behind her rang through the crisp air, keeping her eyes down as she trickled down the cement stairs to the parking lot. Wiping the bead of sweat at her temples, she slowed her pace to catch her breath.

Her eyes caught two cars parked within the lot, a swell of familiarity clustering in her lungs. "You've got to be kidding me." She groaned suddenly, seeing the sleek black frame of a Camaro. It idled behind a baby blue Jeep, one that was made years before she was born. And between the two cars she spotted a person, pacing the asphalt with short and quick spurts. And odd expression was laced over his features, both calculative and unsure. He stopped his pacing once he saw her approaching slowly, his expression changing swiftly to something just short of worry. "You have got to quit stalking me, Derek." Riley complained. "It was endearing at first, but now it's just creepy."

He didn't crack a smile, but watched her ascend the stairs in surprise. "What are you doing here?" He asked, his hand wrapping around the top of her arm as he dragged her closer to the cars. He looked around wildly, his eyes skimming over the treeline to the neighboring woods.

Shrugging his hand off of her, Riley could sense his sudden uneasiness. "Unlike you," she murmured, "I actually go to school here."She looked back to the building, it seemed quiet now as the intercom silenced. "Did you hear that earlier?" Looking to him tentatively. "It sounded like someone was drowning their cat."

Still alert and cautious, Derek turned to her with assertive eyes. "You need to get home." He urged her. Riley rolled her eyes, standing at the hood of his Camaro as she brushed a stray hair from her ponytail back over her shoulder. Her wandering gaze landed on his back window, visible from her stance, she could see an occupant laying face first into the seat. "You can't be here right no--"

"For fuck's sake, why is there a body in your car?" Riley challenged him in a high voice. She broke away from his side, trailing to the side of his car with a terrified expression. Derek caught her arm, tugging her back forcefully, "Oh my, God!" Riley scoffed, eyeing the zip ties wrapped around the guys hands as they were bound together. "What the hell happened?"

"Riley." Derek's tone become dominant, gaining her attention as he pulled her back to face him. "I need you to listen to me, okay?" With her mind running in confused lapse, she could not understand what was happening. "You need to get home as quickly and as safe as you can."

Shaking her head, unable to comprehend anything as her eyes shot from unconscious man in the Camaro, to Derek himself. What was he planning on doing with him? Riley took a step back, distancing herself from him as something just short of fear collected in her gut. Able to sense that, Derek released his grip on her, trying to pinpoint what she could be thinking as she glanced back to the tied up man. For Derek, it could be explained as a simple misunderstanding. To Riley,it could quite possibly be murder.

Her disorientation broke as she heard the sound of the school doors slamming shut, her eyes following the cement stairs up the hill until she could see two leisurely retreating forms. Both Scott and Stiles held small smirks on their faces, breaking from her stance into long strides in their direction. "What the hell was that?" She said, referencing the strange intercom sounds. The teenagers paused, stunned to see her as the same worried expression planted itself on their faces. "And why they hell does he have someone tied up in his backseat?" She pointed an accusing finger at Derek.

Scott tilted his head in concern. "I told you to untie him." He reminded Derek thoughtfully, as if this were some kind of prank. "And I didn't mean to be that loud, sorry." He apologized.

"That was you?" She asked, though Derek's voice overlapped hers.

"I'm going to kill both of you." He promised as he met them at the base of the stairs.

"Great." Stiles nodded his buzzed head. "You can add murder to your already extensive list of felonies!" He barked with humor." Starting with assaulting Scott's boss and kidnapping Riley."

"I didn't bring her here." Derek defended. "And the longer we stand here while you two fuck around," pointing to both Scott and Stiles, "the less time we have to get her out of here." Looking pointedly at Scott now, he became stern. "If what you just did works," he relayed, "the Alpha will be here any minute."

Riley's face scrunched in confusion. "Alpha?" She managed to hiss. "Can someone just tell me what the hell is going on?" Not understanding anything as her mind absorbed the information like a cloud of fog, she looked to her friends for answers.

Scott stepped forward then, looking to her intently. "He's right," he managed to say, "you need to get as far away from here as possible." His warm hand touched hers, sparking a reality she wasn't sure she understood.

It was like viewing everything through a smokescreen, trying to make sense of something that hypothetically was not there. Facing her friends as Derek stood behind her, she looked to them for the truth. Stiles, who simply nodded in agreement, stood beside his best friend. "It's not safe for you to be--" Derek's words were cut short suddenly, a strange gurgle seeping through his lips. Riley turned to glance at him, feeling a bubble of fear collect within her lungs. Blood poured from his mouth, his eyes wide and void as something monstrous lurked behind him. A cry lodged itself within Riley's throat, her scream gliding through the treetops of the treeline behind them. It towered over them, debris matted within its blackened fur as it stood on two legs. A snarl sounded from it's mouth, piercing a wave length Riley never knew existed. And as she watched this bi--pedaled beast press it's claws deeper into Derek's back, Scott gripped her hands more firmly, tugging her forward into a dead run. And the last thing she saw before stumbling behind them was Derek's eyes, gazing into nothing as the feral beast released him, his body falling limply to the cold cement below.


	4. This Changes Things

A sweeping sense of numbness gathered throughout Riley's body. Breathing heavily as if what had just happened had knocked the wind out of her. Scott had released her wrist now, their sprinting coming to a stop as both he and Stiles lead them inside the school. They slammed the double doors shut, the sound awakening something inside her as her wide eyes finally raised from the tiled floor and to her friends. Unable to understand what had happened, all she could remember was Derek. His burly body becoming limp, his green eyes fading into something distant and lost. Panic swelled within her lungs, her breaths now coming in short gasps as she felt her hands begin to quiver. Their backs were to her now, peaking through the windows as they tried to get a better look at where the creature lurked. "Wha--what--what was that?" She managed to stutter, her tone laced with terror.

It was Stiles who turned to look at her, feeling frightened of the fact that they were in more danger than any of them could understand. "Riley, hey!" He gained her attention with a quick and low voice, "You need to stay calm, okay? Can you do that?" From his years of dealing with debilitating panic attacks, he could recognize the signs from a mile away. Her erratic breathing, unfocused eyes and shaking frame. Their own safety relied on their ability to think clearly and quick. "Just breathe, Riley. Breathe."

With a hand on her shoulder, clutching it to help minimize the quake rumbling beneath her skin, he breathed with her, long and deep to steady her heart. And with his guidance, she was able to finally choke out a coherent sentence. "He's dead, isn't he?" She murmured to him, her expression terrified and distant. "Derek's dead--"

"Sshh." Stiles hummed, glancing to Scott with a knowing look. "It's okay."

Her head shook then, signifying that it wasn't. That things did not feel okay in the slightest. Balancing her hands on her knees, she felt her body become light. As if she would collapse under the constant fear. "It--it's still out there, isn't it?" Her head turned then too, finding Scott's frame as he leaned his weight into the double doors, his crooked jaw squared at her question. And with a simple nod of his head, he silently confirmed her assumption. It didn't matter that he couldn't see the monster with his own eyes, because he could feel it's presence. It was as if they were somehow connected as the chilled breeze on the back of his neck assured him that whatever it was that killed Derek was close. "What was it?" She asked again, squinting at the memory of its towering frame and matted black hair. "What was that thing?"

She could see the look both Scott and Stiles shared, their expressions apprehensive as if they were going to feed her another lie. But by seeing the wetness gather in her eyes, tears that represented her overwhelmed mind, Scott knew he could not continue to lie to her. He stepped forward, his brown eyes patient and assuring as he looked to her. "If we tell you," he talked to her as if the truth was something worse than a lie, and in all honesty, it was. "You need to promise me that you wont freak out?"

Disbelief flooded her, skeptical of keeping a promise that made them so worked up. She did not react, standing silently before them as she calmed her breathing. "That thing out there," Stiles said, "the thing that killed Derek . . . _It's called an Alpha._ "

She fell quiet then as they both studied her reaction. The truth was much darker than what they felt comfortable sharing, but lying to her again was not going to aide in their survival. A blank look of misunderstanding flickered within her eyes, squinting them for a second before blatantly tilting her head in confusion. "An--An Alpha?" The boys nodded solemnly at her question, rolling back and forth on the heels of their feet as they waited for a reaction."An Alpha of what?"

Her reaction wasn't what they'd expected. Where was the screaming? Where was the immediate disbelief and anger? Why did Riley Haven seem to just accept it? And as soon as her question followed a deep and throaty howl seemed to ring just outside the entry doors. It weaved through the school hallway, piercing their ears with a warning that the creature was on the prowl. "I don't think you want to find out." Scott vaguely assumed.

Breaking in to a run ahead of them, it was Stiles who pushed Riley into another dead sprint. "Run!" He yelled from behind. "Go! Go!"

Her legs felt like jello-tin, stumbling closely behind Scott McCall. It was the blind leading the blind, feeling pressured to keep his friends safe. The Alpha, after all, was after him in the first place. And even as she ran, she could not beat the howl that followed them. Sounding like a vengeful cry of a wolf, she swallowed the lump within her throat and continued to push herself faster.

Finding refuge in an open classroom, Riley staggered to a halt as Scott lunged the teachers desk up against the door. Pinning it there as if it were somehow able to prevent the Alpha from getting in. Bracing herself against the wall for support, her gaze wandered towards the three windows on the far right wall. Could an Alpha break through glass like that? Of course it could, she thought numbly, it killed Derek as if he were nothing.

"It's not gong to keep him out." She mentioned with heavy breaths, nodding to the blockade.

Stiles frowned, "How about a little optimism?" He urged.

Throwing her restless arms out to her sides, "I'm just being realistic."She informed him tiredly. "We can't stay in here." Still perplexed by the sudden influx of information handed to her, she continued to silently process it.

Stiles began to pace, his tangerine colored lips pursed in thought. "He's your boss." He reminded Scott tactlessly. "Deaton's the Alpha." Riley listened intently to his words, was he insisting that the monster outside was actually human? Stiles seemed sure of his accusation, looking to his best friend who leaned over the desk to catch his breath.

Scott shook his head at him. Having known Deaton for years, he felt compelled to defend the Veterinarian. "He's not." He confirmed with a deepened tone. "You're wrong, Stiles."

Watching them carefully, Riley had every intention of siding with Scott. That thing couldn't have been human. "Yes!" The freckle faced kid spat back. "He's a murdering psycho werewolf! You have to accept that now, Scott." Riley's stomach hollowed out at that word, feeling her chest tighten as her skin became cold. Had he really just name dropped a fictional and supernatural monster?

Feeling her throat close up, wanting to find the words to ask a question, she couldn't make it form coherently. "Deaton was the one tied up in the backseat of Derek's car?" She guessed. Her voice caught their attention, almost forgetting that she'd been with them through this whole discussion in the first place.

Scott nodded to her, "He had a theory." He informed her thoroughly. "But it wasn't true--"

"It's a little suspicious, don't you think?" Stiles prompted eagerly."That Derek thought he was the Alpha, and now suddenly the Alpha killed him?"

"We don't know that he's dead." Scott argued.

Stiles huffed with a small laugh, an inconsiderate thing to do in their current predicament. "You're kidding, right?" He looked from Riley to Scott with incredulous eyes. "I mean, did you guys not see that thing claw it's way up his back? Okay, a fountain of blood spilled from Derek's mouth," he used his hands to reinact the scene, "That doesn't qualify as a minor injury." He scoffed as he continued to persuade his best friend. "He's dead." He muttered. "And we're next."

Hearing the reality of his words beginning to sink in, another swell of panic idled within Riley's chest. "You're scaring her." Scott pointed out, fully aware of the overwhelming pressure they continued to cause her. "But you're right," he finally stated, "it'll come for us sooner or later. We need to get out of here."

The three of them were huddled closer now, firmly planted before the window as they suggested ideas. "If we can get to Stiles' Jeep,"the heavy breath in her lungs still filtered through her nose steadily, "we'll have to make a run for it." A defensive process within her mind kicked in then, her fight or flight skills.The boys nodded in unison, breaking apart as they individually peeked through the blinds on the window.

Riley could faintly see the blue paint on the Jeep where it remained parked on the other end of the lot. It seemed like a stretch, but the options of their choosing were slim. "You think you can make it?" Scott asked, a worried gleam within his eyes as he took a mental note of her shuddering frame.

Her lips spread open to release the huff of air she'd been holding in, revealing her chattering teeth. "Yeah," she nodded nervously, "I just have to be faster than you two, right?" Alluding to the idea that as long as she out ran one of them, she wouldn't be the next to die if the werewolf caught up to them. It felt strange for her to even think that word. Was it irrational of her to believe everything that came out of a sixteen year old's mouth? Or was it more idiotic to juggle the idea around in her head while still being hunted? Her mouth became dry at that thought, trying to understand how something as fictional as a werewolf could exist? What else could be lurking in this town? Unicorns? Bigfoot?

Scott and Stiles both toyed with the window as Riley took a step back, assessing the situation with a clearer mind. It felt impossible to comprehend the truth behind the reality of it all. "We'll have to break the window." Stiles stated after further inspection of the glass. Despite tampering with it, it did not seem as if it would open easily.

"No." Scott shook his head. "It'll make too much noise. He'll know exactly where we are."

The deafening sound of shattering glass cut him off mid sentence. It sounded from the window they stood before, feeling the shards of glass wheeze past them. Riley flinched, stepping back as a sharpened edge grazed her cheek. It startled them for a few seconds until the sound dimmed down, a loud thud rumbling the tile below their feet. Frozen in place, it took a solid moment to regain her composure. The pads of her fingertips skimmed along the sliced skin below her eye. It came back slightly red, barely cut deep enough for it to bleed. "What the hell was that?" She asked with a hoarse voice.

Once the shards of glass had settled at their feet, their eyes scanned the tiled floor for the reasoning behind the broken window. It became eerily silent as Stiles' found the object in question, his legs breaking into long strides as he inspected the medium sized, black box that had finally skidded to a stop. "That's the battery to my Jeep." He hissed with malice. Riley's hand raised to cup the base of her throat, trying to steady her frantic gulps of air until Scott spoke up.

"How are we suppose to make a getaway without a getaway car?" His shaggy hair hung heavily over his eyes, unintentionally hiding the panic that settled within his chocolate brown orbs. "We need a new plan," he insisted wisely. "It'll only be a matter of time before that thing gets inside." He shifted nervously from foot to foot, avoiding any and all contact with Riley who shuddered at his side. He felt too attached to the situation, knowing her safety was at risk because of the Alpha he'd drawn there. And with the broken window filtering a chilled breeze, Stiles knew that the Alpha would catch up with them sooner than later. "Follow me." He instructed, his palm pressed against her back in an urgent manner as he lead the two of them out of the classroom they'd hid within.

Feeling her weak legs carrying her forward, her body somehow still upright after all of the trauma she had witnessed. Was it normal to feel like this, she thought, to feel frightened of something she couldn't quite understand? It was the adrenaline wiring itself throughout her limbs, making her jittery and anxious the more she thought about it.

Stiles slipped his hand into hers, tugging her forward once her pace seemed to slow down. His palm was clammy and cold. Feeling the sticky perspiration bleed from his skin and into hers. He was scared. He put on a braver face than she did, wanting to keep himself together long enough to keep her safe. He might not have been strong like his friend Scott, who always seemed to know what the right thing to do was, but he was trying. He wanted to think his idea of safety was easier to manage.

But was it really?

Especially in a situation like this?

He wondered briefly if Riley could ever really understand what lurked within this towns shadows. Would she embrace it like both he and Scott had? Could she handle something so brutal after what had happened with her mother? Could she understand that there was a darkness so unfathomable that even Derek Hale had had trouble coping? Seeing the terror in her face, it was easy to assume no. Someone with so much innocence inside of them could never carry the truth.

He'd lead them to the boys locker room, hoping the new change in scenery would give them a moment to think without the Alpha breathing down their neck. Riley came to a stop, balancing her hands on her knees while Scott shut the locker room door behind them. Her eyes wandered nervously, narrowing at the rows and rows of lockers centered down the middle of the room. And despite the heaviness that ghosted over them, it was easy to forget that a creature so callous was stalking them. "Call your dad." She breathed after a moment, standing up straight again as Stiles paced the linoleum floor. He looked at her with an incredulous expression, appalled that she would even suggest something like that.

"She's right." Scott mentioned.

Stiles paused mid pace, throwing his arms out wildly to his side in conclusion. "And tell him what?" He demanded with furrowed brows.

"Anything." Riley concluded. "That there's a gas leak. A fire--"

"If the Alpha see's a parking lot full of cars," Scott McCall suggested with urgency, "he'll probably take off." Riley nodded her head, still unsure of what the Alpha really was, but almost certain it would take off at the sound of police sirens.

Stiles shook his head. "And what if it doesn't? What if he goes full Terminator and kills every cop in sight?" He demanded feverishly. "Including my dad!"

"They'll have guns, Stiles." Riley noted.

Their weapons would have been a whole hell of a lot more lethal than anything they could have had. But the moment she spoke, she could see the certainty cloud his whiskey colored eyes. "Yeah?" He cocked his head to the side, coming off almost too entirely dramatic for his own good. "It took a fucking Wolfs bane laced bullet to slightly inconvenience Derek Hale. What's it going to take to--"

"Sshh." Scott's troubled whisper overlapped Stiles' rant. "I think I heard something."

His ears strained, hearing the sound of a distant heartbeat approaching. His sudden concentration caused Riley's anxious heart to palpitate loudly, breaking his focus with a quick shake of his head. The footsteps were louder now, and all Scott could think about was how he was going to defend himself and the two humans behind him. Was he capable of saving them? Was he capable of saving anyone?

Through the crack beneath the door of the locker room, a shadow lingered momentarily. "Hide." Was all he could whisper, hearing the slow click of the knob turning from the other side. Stiles gripped Riley's wrist tightly, pulling her back into the depths of the locker room as his nimble fingers curved under the latch of an empty locker. Keeping his eyes on the door, he ushered Riley inside, squeezing his lean frame in after her. The metal door of the locker clicked shut, able to see through the vented slits just below his eye level as Scott hid within a locker opposite of them.

Riley's breath was hot and ragged as it fanned across his neck. They stood chest to chest now, packed together so tight that he found it hard to breath in such a confined space. And as they stood in complete silence, he could have sworn he could feel her pulse radiate from her chest to his. In any other situation, being this close to her would have provoked thoughts to his brain . . . And not necessarily the one within his head.

He could hear the door to the locker room bustle open then, earning an uncomfortable flinch from Riley, who felt too entirely trapped to gather an idea of what was happening. From the vented slits before them, she could see a shadow mirror itself along the wall of lockers across from them. It caused an unnerving chill to split its way down her spine, her teeth chattering for just a moment until she clenched her teeth so hard, she was sure it would break her jaw.

It was closer now, she could feel a presence lurking further and further into the locker room.

A whine bubbled into her throat, holding her breath to keep it from escaping. If it was the Alpha that idled just outside, it didn't matter how silent they were . . . She had a feeling it already knew where they were. Like it had sniffed them out, entirely just by their scent. Was it crazy to think that something so precise and vicious could exist?

The door to the locker that Scott hid within suddenly burst open, an angry scream echoing off the metal frames of the lockers surrounding them. Stiles was quick to bust open his door, freeing himself from the confines of their shared space as he came face to face with the one lurking. The scream was unfamiliar to Riley, still huddled inside the back of the locker until the startled scream turned into anger. Letting her breath go as something just short of relief flooded her lungs."What the hell are you kids doing?" A heavy set man with a receding hairline cried. "Trying to kill me?"

The janitor wore his uniform proudly, tucked in and smoothed out. "Quite the opposite actually." Stiles let a sarcastic gasp of air leak from between his teeth. He never thought he'd be so relieved to see a janitor in his life. He seemed clueless to the idea of what they'd been running from, and they came to the conclusion that maybe that was a good thing.

"Stilinski?" The janitor squinted his eyes, taking a good hard look at the teenagers freckled face. Of course the janitor knew him. Everyone in this town knew of the Sheriff's trouble making child. "What in God's name are you doing here?" His eyes fell past the troubled Sophomore at to the girl still visibly shaken inside the locker that he'd stormed from.

The janitor's eyes widened, falling back to Stiles with assumption. It was Scott who could make out the undeniable accusation he quickly made, looking back to Riley, terrified and shaken, linking her fear back to the two boys who were quick to speak up. "We can explain!" Scott assured.

"I don't want to hear it." The janitor raised his burly palms to silence them. "Out. All of you out." He grabbed the boys by the collar of their shirts, dragging them forcefully to the door in which they'd came in. Riley followed nervously behind, hearing Stiles' raising voice, pleading with him to listen for just a moment. Scott and Stiles fumbled through the threshold of the door, standing in the hallway of the first floor as Riley slipped briskly from between the janitor and to behind where both her friends idled.

"You need to listen to us--" Scott begged.

"What I need is to find a better job!" He complained loudly. "I don't get paid enough for this--" His enraged tone dimmed down suddenly as a harsh and distinct growl rumbled off the linoleum floors. Stiles took a step back, bumping into Riley as a shadowed beast slipped from the shadows of the locker room, his red eyes vibrant and hellish, towered over the janitor. Riley peered up at it, feeling insignificant compared to the size of this monster.

Her skin peppered with goosebumps, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Her body stiffened, a chill weaving throughout her bones as the creature rose a clawed hand, swiping the janitor's feet out from below him. He toppled over, his dark framed glasses unable to hide the terror within his eyes. He tripped onto his stomach, his arms desperately reaching out for something to cling to as the beast continued to yield him into the shadows.

His greedy hands clasped around Riley's ankle, lurching her forward as if to drag her with him. "Please!" He begged, his voice cracked and desperate. "Please! Help me!" He could feel something sharp encircle his leg, tugging him back into the depths of the locker room. It was Scott who caught Riley's fall, his hands gripping at any limb of hers he could latch onto. Riley's scream was piercing and painful to hear, feeling his grip on her foot tighten the further he was dragged back. Stiles fists gripped her elbow firmly, the fear of losing her preventing him from letting her go. "Help me!" The janitor begged, but even with his cries lingering in the air, all he could see was Riley's face.

Her will to fight something she didn't understand thriving behind her clouded and anxious eyes. Her feet kicking against the grip the man had on her, not wanting to be dragged into the shadows with a beast. Scott and Stiles refused to let their hold on her slacken, knowing damn well that her safety somehow meant more than the Janitor's life.

An instinctual desire to help the man grasping at her legs for leverage bubbled inside her, finding it hard to keep herself tethered to both Scott and Stiles while keeping this man from sinking into the shadows. And within a split second, the Janitors grip on her was torn away, the mans nails raking over her skin as the beast dragged him into the darkness and out of sight. The mans screams died down into soft gurgles of breath. Riley remained frozen on the threshold of the doorway, her eyes watering and skin chilled until Scott yanked her to her feet. "Let's go!" He murmured in a defensive tone. And as she felt the nerve to want to stay put and help him, her legs broke into a dead sprint behind Scott McCall. And the further she got from the the scene she'd just encountered, she swore the sound of his cries got louder.

They were hauntingly gut wrenching.

A bubble of distress enclosed around her throat, a strangled whine fighting its way through her teeth. An animalistic hiss of emotion seemed to catch up to her then, her legs no longer gliding in long sprints, but buckling beneath each step. The weight of his death cornering her as if it were her fault. And perhaps it was, because as she replayed the moments leading up to him disappearing into the darkness, all she could think of was how she could have saved him.

"Whats our plan?" She could hear Scott's breathy voice ask as he lead them through the halls.

Stiles was close behind Riley, keeping on her trail to keep her moving. It was a tactic he knew would keep her from stopping, because God only knew what could have been following behind them. "The Camaro." He responded firmly, feeling the aching heat form within his calves the faster he ran. "We'll get the keys off Derek's dead body and make an escape." Their voices broke her away from her thoughts, her once chilled skin now felt like fire. As if she were being roasted from the inside out. An exhaustion so undeniably stifling lingered in her bones, feeling a weight gather that could not be lifted. And as they spoke of Derek Hale, it fed something wild within her. Her legs pushed faster, her heart pulsing rapidly against her chest as if it were to burst. An anger for what had happened tonight swelled within her lungs.

And before she knew it, their shoes were skidding across the tiled floors. Bursting through the double doors of the school to the parking lot, halting in their steps as red and blue flashing lights ignited the paved roads. At just the sight, Riley felt weak with relief, because she hoped that this meant tonight was over. That the darkness couldn't exist with more witnesses . . . But perhaps it could. Maybe it will.

Stiles could see a figure in the distance, his silhouette recognizable from a mile away. "Dad!" He gasped in surprise, nearly tripping over his own feet as he met the Sheriff half way with an embrace. "What are you doing here?" He questioned nervously.

"We got a call into the station." Riley overheard as Scott walked her down the pathway to the parking lot, his arm encircled firmly around her shoulders. "A noise complaint." What his father didn't know, was that this noise complaint was a buy one get one free murder spree as well. "Are you kids alright?" John Stilinski took in the sight of Riley Haven, a girl he knew very little about in this small town. Her distressed appearance unnerving. Her brunette hair was wild and windblown, her tanned skin littered with goosebumps as she passed him by without even as little as a look in his direction. But it was Scott who gave him a curt nod, that maybe things were not okay right now, but that he could foresee them eventually falling into place.

That after tonight, things were not going to be the same for any of them.


	5. A Burden

The next few days that followed felt forced. As if she were playing a part for a character she did not know. It was like looking in the mirror was some kind of foreign concept, because the girl she saw was not the same. She was more on edge now, more terrified of the dark and the things it hid. She felt forced as she pretended that everything was fine, when in reality everything now seemed unfamiliar.  
She had gone as far as thinking she'd dreamed it, because there was no way in her right mind that she could justify what she'd seen. The explanations she'd recieved from her friends did not add up, and maybe it was due to them trying to protect her from the truth. But Riley did not need protection . . . She needed answers. She needed to know that she wasn't insane, or that her fears were stemmed from something irrational.

The memories of that night made her spine twitch in discomfort, seeing the live coverage on the news that night as they wheeled out the janitors dead body. They'd blamed the murder on Derek Hale, because he was now dead and could not defend himself against the accusations. But Riley knew the truth. She knew that even someone as indifferent as he, would not go to those lengths for petty revenge.  
The rumors of his psychotic outburst that had lead to him trapping the three of them in the school left a bad taste in her mouth. And so she went to the only available source for the truth.

Scott McCall's house was the smallest on the block, idling on the corner of a family oriented neighborhood. The two story home had a green yard, the grass bushing over the cement pathway as a reminder that it needed a trimming.

A blue Jeep resided in the driveway, beside an older Toyota with a missing side mirror.

Her legs felt tired as she trudged up the pathway, having walked the two miles from her apartment to his home. She hadn't realized the late hour, rounding to nearly eleven at night as she knocked on the McCall's front door. His mother answered, a yawn on her thin lips as Riley studied her beautiful features. Her skin was smooth, save for the few lines etched around her eyes that appeared once she smiled mindfully at the teenager on her doorstep. Melissa McCall's thick and curly hair was brushed back into a ponytail, her petite figure draped in a pair of pink scrubs. She must have just gotten home from her double shift at the Hospital. She did not question why her son's friend was here at such a late hour. She was use to Stiles bustling in through her door, uninvited at odd hours of the night. She could have sworn he'd had a copy of her house key too.

Their home was mildly unkempt, with random items strewn across the living room. It showed signs of life, unlike her apartment that was bare and lifeless. It felt warm, and not because of the temperature, but because it was obvious that this home was budding with love. Scott and his mother took pride in each other. Melissa motioned to the stairs leading up to the second floor, her eyes captivated by the embarrassing school photos of Scott McCall throughout the years. His baby faced portraits were from a simpler time. She could visibly see the months of stress that had taken their toll on him. Scott was under a lot of pressure these days, and she was adamant about finding out why.

She could tell which room was his, by the music lowly thumping in rhythmic pulses. It drew her forward, coming face to face with a red stop sign he'd strung up upon his door Freshman year. Riley's fingers curled into fists, straining them until her knuckles shown through her thin skin. And with three fast raps against his wooden door, she felt a heaviness weight itself upon her. The music stopped abruptly, a slight sound of shuffling happening on the other side before the door opened. Scott McCall stood before her, his shaggy hair hanging over his brows as a surprised expression crossed his features. "Can we talk?" She asked, looking over his shoulder to see Stiles Stilinski spinning aimlessly in a computer chair. Maybe it didn't matter that it was a school night to him, because he opened his door wider to let her through.

His room was the typical teenage boys aesthetic, the perfect amount of mess combined with partial organization. The posters of bands clung to his walls neatly, like Blink-182 and Linkin Park. The objects on his dresser were askew, his school books toppling over, dusty and unused as if he hadn't had the time for school work these days. He had a lot on his plate at the moment, and she felt determined to understand why.  
Sitting upon his neatly made bed, Scott looked up to her with a worn out gaze. He was both curious and scared as to what she wanted to talk about. Since the night at the school, both he and her hadn't exactly spoken. Wanting to reach out to her, to see if she was okay, he figured space was what she'd need to heal from the trauma. He even went as far as to wonder if she knew just how close she'd come to dying that night.

Riley stood over the two boys, too anxious to sit among them as she fiddled with the sleeve of her cardigan. Biting her lip to find her voice, it suddenly felt extremely difficult to gather a coherent thought. She'd thought in her head of all the things she was going to ask him, all the accusations she was going to pinpoint on him, but now as she stood before him, her throat swelled up. Perhaps it was his innocent eyes that made her choke. Maybe Scott was a victim after all.

Shuffling from one foot to the other as she weighed the tension between them carefully, she was able to put together a mildly coherent sentence. "I just want the truth." She murmured. "Plain and simple."

Scott nodded, his foot bouncing against the hardwood floor as a flash of nerves wrapped around his mind. Knowing how dangerous the truth could be, he didn't want to subject her to the truth if it meant eliminating her shield of safety. And Riley could see it as he stammered silently, his mouth opening to speak before abruptly closing again. She could tell he was grasping for an explanation that wouldn't satisfy her.  
It took a minute, and it wasn't until Riley crossed her arms over her chest impatiently that he finally stuttered, "If I tell you and you get hurt," he hung his head with a few quick shakes, "it'll be my fault." It was his way of protecting her, because he knew that people who knew the truth were not as safe. But maybe the truth was that no one was safe anymore. He thought about that briefly before sighing, "And if I don't tell you and you get hurt, it'll still be my fault." He remained silent for another second, contemplating the truth and how either way, knowing or not knowing, it was a burden.

With hesitation he continued, "I am what I am because of the Alpha." He exclaimed timidly, his eyes never daring to meet hers as he skimmed patterns into the rug with his gaze. "I didn't ask for it to be this way and what happened at the school was because of me." His tone seemed ashamed, as if he blamed himself for the janitors death and the chaos they'd been put through. In all honesty, he did blame himself more than Riley could understand. "He wants me to be a part of his pack," he stuttered, "and he wont stop until I do."

Riley took in his words with slow recognition, running them her brain over and over as she analyzed the meaning behind them. It made her spine feel numb, her body became weak as she furrowed her arched brows. "A part of his pack?" She managed to ask. "What? Like wolves?"

Raising his head to finally look at her, his eyes locked with hers deeply. His stare was strong and insecure as he nodded once. "Exactly like wolves." He breathed evenly, petrified of her reaction and if she'd go running down the streets screaming. He wanted her to understand the weight of the truth he was telling her, because this wasn't a light topic for discussion. He was still new to this supernatural world, yet he'd still seen with his own eyes how dangerous it could be.

Riley could feel a blank expression file over her face, her hands became so incredibly cold as she tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her fists. And for a moment it was like time had stopped, looking into the face of a boy he was too kind for his own good, knowing that perhaps something dark wrestled within him. This innocent shell of a kid was just that . . . A shell. Nothing more and nothing less, while something animalistic tore its way up his spine every moment of every day. "So . . ." She cleared her throat then, her voice cracking, "You're a wolf--"

"A Werewolf actually." Stiles commented, holding up his index finger to correct her. And once he saw the recognition light her eyes, followed by unexplained fear, he pursed his lips together to keep himself quiet.

This was dreadful news to take in. It was confusing and challenging to understand. And to know that Scott McCall's choice had been taken away in all of this, that this life wasn't what he would have chosen for himself made it all too real. Scott could sense the panic settling within her, raising to his feet in one swift movement to console her. But his quickness startled her as she took a deliberate step away from him.

This was exactly the reaction he'd feared. She was scared.

"You wanted the truth." Scott reminded carefully, his palm facing her as a sign of comfort. "And as crazy as it all sounds, we're not lying to you for once." He took another step her way, to which Riley backpedaled another inch to keep some distance. Her widened hazel eyes skimmed his features nervously, narrowing them at the curved bridge of his nose and down to his crooked jawline. How was someone so baby faced and kind to be cradling a darkness too strong to withold. "Riley," he spoke her name softly, "Please, say something."

Her hands were wrapped around the tops of her arms, feeling a chill weave within her spine as she shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Werewolf?" The word tasted sour on her tongue, feeling crazy for even considering this as part of the truth. Was it impossible to believe that humans weren't the only ones that inhabited this Earth? It seemed strangely impossible to come to terms with, but as a steady breath rose from her lungs, she finally dislodged the fear trapped inside her throat. "If the Alpha chose you," her voice was low, trying to wrap her head around her own question, "to be a part of it's pack," she became unnerved the more and more she spoke about it out loud, "then why don't you just join him?"

It was a question Scott had thought about, but no one had actually asked him. He'd spent countless nights awake trying to make sense of what he believed to be both good and bad. "I don't want to be like him." He mentioned firmly, his tone was a silent reminder that the Alpha had killed an innocent person just to get to him. "I don't want to be a part of his pack," he stated again, "Or Derek's for that matter. There's no Werewolf rule that states you have to choose." Hearing Derek's name mentioned out loud since the other night made her stomach tighten into a knot. She could still see his eyes wide and distant as a fountain of blood slipped from between his lips. The Alpha had killed him too, just to get to Scott McCall. And then it hit her, that he'd been adamant about joining forces with Scott too, which lead Riley to the second conclusion of the night. Derek was a Werewolf too. Was. He was a Werewolf.

"That day in your Jeep," her eyes shifted to Stiles now, "Derek was dying, wasn't he?" The freckle faced teen nodded, but did not speak. He kept his eyes focused on his hands, twining and un--twining his fingers together over and over again. "But he healed."

Scott pursed his lips carefully. "It's a Werewolf thing." Riley's body had stopped quivering now, the tension emanating from her in waves as he felt an abundant amount of grief collect inside of her. "He was shot by hunters with a Wolfsbane laced bullet."

Her wide eyes twitched abruptly, her lips parting in careful deliberation. "Hunters?"

It was Stiles who chimed in then, unusually quiet this whole time. "Werewolf hunters." He murmured. "The Argent's keep the town of Beacon Hills safe." He included a quick summary of their duty to 'Hunt those who hunted them'.

"Argent's?" She questioned mindfully. "As in Allison Argent?"

The boys nodded in unison. "Her father to be exact."

"Are you insane?" Riley's voice was sudden and angry as she narrowed her eyes to Scott. "You're a Werewolf dating a Werewolf hunter's daughter?"

Her accusation seemed arrogant and misguided because she did not understand how much Scott loved Allison . . . And how she had no idea about the Supernatural despite her father being directly involved in it. But then a sad look gleamed within his eyes, "It doesn't matter," he responded. "Allison won't talk to me after I stood her up the other night."

"It wasn't your fault." Stiles claimed, clapping his best friend on the back of his shoulder. "You were a little busy running for your life from a raging psychopathic Werewolf." A grin was laced against Stiles cheeks, finding a small amount of humor in reliving their near death experience.

Riley glared at him. "Do you think this is funny?" She demanded. He rose his arms out incredulously, surprised that she was lashing out at him. And as her anger rose, she thougt of another valid argument brewing inside her mind. It was a rumor she'd heard on the news, relayed by uninformed news anchors about the incident of the school. "Was it really necessary to pin the Janitors murder on Derek Hale?"

Scott could see she was seething, attempting to calm her down with a soft tone. "We couldn't exactly tell the Sheriff what really happened."

"Besides," Stiles shrugged, "Derek's dead, it's not like he'll face jail time." No matter how right he was, it still felt wrong to accuse someone innocent regardless of if they were dead or alive. "Why do you even care anyway?" He asked, rolling his eyes. Stiles could easily admit that Derek Hale was not his favorite person on the planet. His intimidating stature and threats of violence were not a pleasantry Stiles could adjust to. He looked at Riley then, seeing the anger subside as she squared her jaw defensively. "Oh--Oh." He finally gathered as he pinpointed the reason easily. "You liked him--"

"I did not!" She declared with a rigid point of her finger. She was increasingly defensive the longer the two boys stared at her. A heat rose into her lungs, catching herself on fire as their accusation burned a hole in her. And when she realized her flaming cheeks gave her away, she changed the subject quickly. "Why would the Alpha kill him in the first place?"

Scott refocused his attention on something other than Riley's chemo--signals, his stiff shoulders shrugging for just a second of time. "Maybe he saw him as a threat?" He held his eyes on the floorboards, feeling ashamed of the outcome of Derek's life. Was that his fault too? There was a small moment of silence between the three of them, feeling the weight of the truth burden their already loaded shoulders. "And now you know everything." Her thumb was caught between her teeth, biting at the cuticles. It was a habit that followed her around since the third grade. It helped ease her overworked mind and create a safe space for her to flee to when things became too stressed. She nodded at Scott's words, both haunted and thankful for the truth they'd given her. She'd always thought that the truth was better than a lie, but in this instance she couldn't agree. Perhaps in the long run her life would be easier to live if this wasn't her truth to bare now.

Maybe not knowing would have kept her safe.

 

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Riley opted for sitting with Allison the next day at lunch, feeling obliged to settle on her friends side as she continued to ignore Scott's attempts at contacting her. She may not have known the truth as to why Scott had stood her up, but Riley felt it was her duty to make Allison see that perhaps he wasn't as bad of a boyfriend as she thought him to be. Despite knowing her family's history now, she couldn't see past Allison without imagining a flock of hunters at her side. Is that what Allison was destined to be too? A Werewolf hunter? She studied the dark haired brunette from across the lunch table, her fingers numbly picking apart an orange. She felt distressed for some reason, almost on high alert. "How have you been doing?" The Argent asked suddenly, her doe--like eyes wide and concerned. "You know, since what happened the other night at the school?"

Riley seemed to choke, focusing on the sweet scent of the fruit within her palms to keep her from spiraling into the conspiracy theories of that night. "Better." She said automatically, as if she'd rehearsed that line several times. What was she suppose to say when people asked that? When people bluntly asked how she was doing after almost being killed.

"They still haven't caught him." She commented with a dimpled and worried curve of her lips. "Derek Hale." She said the name as if it were secret, categorizing him in with the same level of rage as someone like Ted Bundy. Derek was not a murderer, but these rumors suggested otherwise. And in all honesty, they weren't going to find Derek Hale. His body had been gone before the Police arrived, perhaps by the Alpha to help cover it's own tracks. All Riley could do was nod numbly, make Allison believe that she was on board with this rumor to ensure she did not find out the truth. "After what he went through," she continued in light small talk, "it's no wonder he wen't off the deep end."

Her comment sounded odd and invasive, tilting her head in wonder as she asked, "What do you mean?"

As far as the town could tell, Derek had no reason to go after a bunch of teenagers in correlation with the rumor that it was him who chased them down inside the school. So why did it sound like Allison knew better? Her friend's lip turned down at the corner, leaning in with a small whisper as if what happened to Derek was some huge secret. "You haven't heard?" She questioned, to which Riley shook her head. "His family died in a house fire a few years back." Riley fingers became rigid, her anxious and bouncy leg coming to a quick halt at the news. She hadn't known this about the Werewolf. "They ruled it as an accident, but now they are reopening the case as possible arson." Allison's bare shoulders quivered just thinking about it. "And then he just lost his sister last month . . . It's enough to make anyone go insane."

Riley reacted carefully around her friend, trying not to show remorse or sympathy for a person who presumably attempted to kill her. But she lowered her eyes, feeling them sting with anger. She knew how it felt to lose someone, but loosing everything you knew all at once was far beyond Riley's expertise. "The house is still out in the woods." Allison mentioned. "People think it's haunted."

Her hands began to tremble, placing them in her lap to hide them from Allison's view.

 

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She wasn't sure which direction she was heading, the tree's all looked the same out here. Her boots crunched against the wooded debris at her feet, trailing deeper and deeper into the woods in search of closure. Something inevitably sympathetic struck her when she'd heard about the fire, because in her mind it somehow made sense. Perhaps she could see the suffering he'd been dealt within his eyes and could somehow relate. It had only been three months since her own mothers death, and that feeling of loss still followed her around each day. It taunted her endlessly, reminding her that she was left with nothing. Grief recognized grief, and she only wished she could have seen it sooner in Derek Hale. Would it have made a difference? Most likely not. But condemning him for an accusation he was not a part of only seemed to make it worse to play along with the rumor.

Not when she knew what she knew now.

Allison said his old home was out past the preserve, just a few miles up a steep incline and she wouldn't be able to miss it. Were people really afraid of it being haunted? Did they really think that the souls of the Hale family resided within the burned down home? After finding out that Werewolves exist, Riley wasn't so inclined to bet against it.

But maybe coming face to face with something as personal as his child hood home would be a good start for repentance. She hoped it would give her closure so that it did not bother her anymore. This clustered feeling of sadness that collected inside her chest wasn't just because she mourned his death, a guy she barely knew, but because in the short time she did know him, she did not dwell in his presence. The people of Beacon Hills had a way of dampening her mood . . . But not him. His presence was filtered with light despite the darkness that swallowed him whole.

Finding closure wasn't just for herself, but for the innocence she knew belonged to him.

It was just an hour before nightfall as she approached a clearing in the woods. The treeline thinned into sparce woodland as she crept closer carefully. Her breathing heightened, silently telling herself that she wasn't afraid. Not of Scott nor of Derek. It was possible to see past their supernatural abilities and determine that they were just as every bit as human as she was. No, she wasn't afraid of them . . . But the callous Alpha who would stop at nothing to get his Beta on his side is what made her eyes skim the treeline from side to side non stop.

She felt safer once she'd escaped the dense woods, leaving them behind her as the clearing opened up into a dead land of waste. The tree's surrounding the two story house did not grow, too scorched by the fire from years ago to fully mend. The roof was caved in in most spots, the sunlight streaking through it's gutted inside as some kind of beacon. The once polished and white paint of the walls outside were now gray, stained with soot and mold as a heavy feeling of dread pressed against her ribs. The windows were shattered, the front porch unsteady as they rattled with a passing breeze. It must have been a beautiful home when it was still thriving, but the years of inclemented weather ruined it where the fire had not. And despite the haunted vision of this once bountiful home, the most chilling thing to see was a black Camaro parked at it's side.

Without realizing it, her knees buckled as she broke into a quick pace. Reaching his car with a feverent approach, her hand reached out to stroke it's tail light.

How had it ended up back here?

And as a bustle of wind sped by, they weaved through the unhinged shutters clinging by a thread to the windows. The wind whistled as it passed by, debris swirling at her feet as she turned back to stare at the house. She felt unnerved as if something were staring back at her, feeling a tightness form within her chest as her eyes continued to rake over the irreparable home. This was the scene of too many deaths, and if she did not tread carefully, potentially her own.

Something urged her to go inside, to see the realness for herself. Riley could not disagree in time, before her legs were carrying her forward and up the front porch steps. They creaked beneath her weight, gripping the banister tightly to secure her balance until she was steady again. The closer she got, the more dreadful this place felt. With a shaking palm, Riley curved her hand to the shape of the door knob. It twisted easily within her grip before swinging open in a long and spine tingling creek. It hit the wooden wall at it's side with a thud, leaving the entryway open for her to peer inside. The home was ignited only by the light filtering in from the setting sun, just enough to see the destruction splayed out before her.

The inside was layered with dust, the once priceless wallpaper crinkled and torn as cobwebs clung to it's corners. It still smelled of burning wood chips after all this time. The living room was to her left, the couch tattered and torn from years of being unkempt. Ignoring the stairs that lead to the second story, Riley trailed her hand along the mantle of the fire place. Her fingertips came back black, rubbing away the dusted memories on her pants once her eyes caught sight of a picture frame. The glass was cracked, the faces smiling through from the other side remained distorted as she counted five people crammed into this one picture. And without needing to study it any further, she recognized the mossy green eyes of Derek Hale. His chin dimpled with his wide smile, surrounded by his family as an early teenager. A woman with such pristine beauty had an arm laced around his shoulder, embracing him lovingly as only a mother could.

"Are you stalking me now?" Taken off guard by the sudden question, she swirled around feverishly to a figure idling at the foot of the stairs. His posture was relaxed and non threatening as his skin remained sun kissed and smooth as if he'd healed from the deep claw marks.

And at the sight of him, a gasp lurched from between her parted and plump lips. "You're--you're alive?" She stammered, tracing over his strong jaw line as a five o'clock shadow began to darken his cheeks. A heat pricked at the back of her eyes, feeling an overwhelming sensation begin to devour her. His eyes were not as inviting as they'd been in the picture, but then again, years of seclusion could turn a once happy boy into a begrudging man.

His hands were in the pockets of his jeans, his green t-shirt nicely fitted over his muscled chest. He seemed healthy and healed. He did not acknowledge her assumption, but instead left his stance beside the banister and out the front door. He knew she would follow him, walking slowly until he heard her rushed feet bound against the wood floors after him. Riley couldn't help but feel gravitated to his unusual appearance, following after him as if she were sure he'd disappear into the wind. Maybe Allison was right . . . This place was haunted.

But as she turned around the corner of the front door, she saw his rigid back as he leaned against the railing of the porch. He watched the sunset with narrowed and gentle eyes, as if he were thankful to be seeing it once more. "Why did you come?" He asked, his voice wasn't bitter sounding for once. It was smooth and kind, almost as if he were pleasantly surprised.

Keeping a distance from behind, she dug her nails into the palms of her hands to ensure she wasn't dreaming. Derek was standing right before her as if he hadn't been presumed dead just a few nights prior. "I thought you were dead." She insisted with a small voice, her eyes trailing their way up from his hips to his shoulders. He stood straight as if he hadn't been mauled by an Alpha. He didn't say anything in return, but kept his gaze focused forward. He didn't have to strain his ears to hear the frantic beat gathering in her chest. An anxious tremor rolled down her spine, so rattled by his presence that he swore he could feel the ground beneath him shift.

"Wounds inflicted by an Alpha take longer to heal." Derek muttered, looking over his shoulder for just a second as his tight lips curved ever so simply.

"The fact that you're smiling right now," she interjected sternly, "is making it a lot harder to believe I'm not hallucinating." Derek Hale never smiled. He hadn't had anything to be happy about in a long time. But seeing her show up tonight out of curiousness and sympathy gave him a small inkling of what it felt like. Riley didn't owe him anything, especially after his harsh behavior directed toward her.

From his peripheral he could see her take a step toward him, and that scared him. He hadn't allowed his personal space to be broadened to accommodate someone else in a long while. And most importantly, he didn't expect himself to stay anchored to his stance and allow her to do it so easily. "You should go." He recommended suddenly, turning his head to glance back at the setting sun just over the hill ahead. "It's going to be dark soon . . ." He trailed off as he found the right words, "you don't know what kind of things are lurking in these woods."

His comment was perplexing, feeling her bones ache at the mention of something possibly hiding within the dense forestation. But she had a feeling he knew something she didn't. "Werewolves?" She asked, her brow furrowing as she came to stand beside him.

Derek's hands gripped the railing tighter, shaking his head. "Worse." He commented. "It's always something worse." His voice was lower now, clearly intending to sound impactful in comparison to her stubbornness. Her chemo--signals should have indicated that she was scared, but they did not. She remained concerned and calculative as she looked at him timidly. "You're not afraid." It wasn't a guess, but more of an understanding.

"Not of the good guys." She remarked.

Riley knew that both he and Scott were on the same side. The accussations he faced and the rumors that circled around his name did nothing to disuade her. "That makes you either incredibly brave or inheritently stupid." Derek huffed, shaking his head then as he swerved around her stance and down the porch stairs. Riley wanted to believe that it wasn't the latter, but perhaps bravery wasn't a part of who she was. "There's a full moon tonight," he said once he reached the bottom step, turning back to look at her idling on his porch. "I'll walk you back to the preservation entrance, but I can't go any further."

Walking down the rickety porch steps carefully, she walked beside him and into the treeline. "You're a wanted man." She remembered, knowing he must have been hiding out from the public eye since his name was slandered with murder. Derek's strides were wide and quick, having to take double the amount of steps just to keep on his heels. A huff of air exhaled his nose, shaking his head in clear annoyance.

"Thanks to those two idiots." Referring to Scott and Stiles and their correlating police statements. And she couldn't disagree, having not agreed with their decision to publicly warrant Derek as a serial killer in the slightest. And for the remainder of their two mile hike, they did not speak. Dusk fell upon them shortly after, a cold breeze passing through as a reminder of the oncoming December.


	6. Cruel Intentions

School seemed to pass by eloquently slower than usual the next day, but it was probably more or less due to the fact that she hadn't't gotten much sleep the night before. Once Derek had parted ways with her at the entrance to the preserve, she went straight home like he had ordered. She didn't do it for his benefit, but because she clearly now knew that this town was a dangerous place . . . Especially on a full moon.  
Tossing and turning all throughout the night, wondering how both Scott and Derek made it through. How hard was it for a werewolf to make it through a solid moon phase? Was it harder to suppress their animistic instincts than usual? These were questions that kept her up, making her mind wired and awake until the early hours of the morning. But all seemed normal once she'd made it to school and had seen both Scott and Stiles attending classes in one piece.

But no one had heard from Derek and that worried her a bit.

Stiles approached her after school then, reminding her of their study session they'd had to reschedule due to Derek's immaculate timing. And despite her increasing need for sleep, she agreed so that he'd finally get off her back about it. Feeling more and more irritable these days, it was hard to keep up with the favors of her friends when she could barely get enough time for herself.

His old modeled baby blue Jeep was idling in the parking lot as they headed his way after school. "Where's Scott?" She asked once they'd both fallen into the front seats of the cab. She'd seen him briefly during the day, but he'd seemed absent almost entirely.

Stiles revved the engine quickly, pulling onto the main road in a hurry.

"He's doing a little investigating for Derek." He said nonchalantly, to which Riley rose a surprised brow. To the best of her knowledge, she assumed Scott did not wish to partake in anything even remotely involved with Derek. He wished to steer clear of the Werewolf in hopes that his attempts at bargaining his alliance would end. Riley gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to elaborate. "Okay, fine!" He huffed, rolling his eyes. "Derek thinks he may have found a clue as to who killed his family."

With a perplexed expression, she responded, "Does he have any leads?"

"Just one." Stiles responded. "The girl who set it all up was wearing a very distinguishing pendant." He paused for a moment, side eyeing her briefly. "One that Scott's seen Allison wearing." This new information left her stomach in knots, who was capable of such a heinous crime? "Which means Scott is caught up in favors with Derek, while in the meantime, also receiving very cryptic and cruel psychological abuse from Jackson." His tone seemed sarcastic, but his features told her otherwise. The lacrosse jock had made many examples of how cruel he could be out of McCall. It wasn't surprising that after all this time he was still picking fights for fun. "He knows about Scott."

Riley froze, her eyes widening. "Wait--like, _knows_ , knows?"

"He knows enough." Stiles added, gazing out past his windshield with squinted eyes. He seemed on edge about something other than Jackson, and Riley had a feeling it was somehow more substantial than she could fathom. "I don't know how he knows," shrugging his plaid covered shoulder, "but he threatened to tell Allison about Scott unless he helps him get the bite."

Feeling her chest become heavy at the thought, she couldn't justify allowing Jackson to have that much power. People like him would only abuse the strength that came with being a Werewolf. For a moment she wished she could show Jackson what it was like being a part of the Supernatural world. Did he know that it came with nightmares? That there was a certain sense of fear that settled in her bones each night. Of course he didn't, because people like Jackson probably thought they were too good to be afraid.

Did he know about the Alpha? The hunters? Did he care?

Riley's thoughts were so in depth that she hadn't't realized they'd arrived at Stiles' house until he switched the ignition off. The one story home was tucked away in a quiet and nice neighborhood. The front lawn was beginning to grow out, easily picturing the freckle faced boy mowing it in the summertime. The Sheriff's car was parked in the garage, the door open for everyone to see. Perhaps John Stilinski thought no one would be stupid enough to steal the stuff tucked away in the corner of the garage. Who would antagonize the towns Sheriff anyway?

Her textbooks felt heavy in her arms as she followed Stiles inside. It felt warmer the moment she stepped in through the door, but not in a temperature kind of way. There was a soft glow about the home, a coziness to it's insides that she couldn't quite explain. It was refreshing in a way, to be met by a feeling that wasn't entirely cloaked in darkness. It felt lighter here. It felt safe. Stiles' pace was fast, bypassing the kitchen as he lead her into the hallway leading to his room. Pictures were balanced on the walls, a family photo of both he, his father and mother from many years ago. She wished she could have stopped to memorize the beauty that was his mother, Claudia, but felt too compelled to keep up with him as he marched forward.

He swung open his bedroom door with a quick hand, heading straight for his computer desk as he switched on the laptop. Riley let the books in her hands flop onto his bed, feeling relieved once their weight vanished from her arms. "Hey, Stiles!" A voice echoed from down the hall, Riley glanced over shoulder towards the open door, hearing Sheriff Stilinski's fatherly tone carry into the room.

"Hey, Da--" Stiles' voice cut out, his whiskey colored eyes finding an unfamiliar figure lurking within the corner of his room. "D--Derek?" He hissed with furrowed brows, hearing his father's footsteps travel closer to his door.

That name caught Riley's attention, fulling turning on her heel to see the Werewolf tucked away beside the bookcase on the opposite wall. His tall and muscular frame stood out prominently along the stark white walls, his features stern and serious as he put a finger to his mouth to urge him into silence before frantically motioning towards the open door to Stiles' bedroom. And with untamed and urgent limbs, Stiles bustled through his door to meet his father on the other side, closing the door behind him to create a barrier between his father and the most wanted man in Beacon County.

She felt locked into place, hoping her friend could keep his father at bay long enough for Derek to stay out of cuffs. Their voices were kind and soft as they talked just outside the door, but Riley couldn't focus long enough to hear what they spoke about. She was too transfixed on the heathen standing before her. The only person both brave and dumb enough to break into the bedroom of the Sheriff's son. His leather clad arms were strained at his side, his jawline scruffier than the last time she'd seen him just a few nights prior. "What are you doing here?" She mouthed in a whisper, her voice low enough that the two men outside the door would not hear.

But Derek's finger traveled back to his lips, insisting her to keep her mouth shut until he was out of the clear. He'd hoped the Sheriff wouldn't have been home when he'd bound up the side of the Stilinski home and into Stiles' window, nor did he expect Riley to be there either. He'd needed help with something important and hadn't't planned on including the exceedingly beautiful girl standing across from him. He wanted to be mad that she was here, but couldn't find it in himself to feel anything other than the simple satisfaction of seeing her again. Just like the other night, when she'd showed up at his childhood home. He'd wished she'd hadn't', but that was only because he found it incredibly hard to tolerate a feeling he didn't quite understand. It was a feeling that prodded him each time he'd seen her. A feeling he couldn't quite describe.

It was warm and inviting. It felt understandably odd.

And here she was, a curious smile spread over her lips like some kind of devilish Goddess.

Derek could hear the conversation die out between Stiles and his father, his tense shoulders easing up the moment the spaz of a kid rolled back in through the door. He didn't trust Stiles, but he trusted Scott, and therefore indirectly had to put his trust into a kid who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. Riley's smile vanished once Derek stepped forward, cornering Stiles against the closed door with a threatening posture. He pointed a finger in Stiles' face, "If you say one word--" His voice was low and rough.

"What?" The freckle faced teen responded indifferently. "Like, Hey dad, Derek Hale's in my room . . . Bring your gun!" His sarcasm was spot on, standing up for himself as Riley felt a pressured urge to step in. To become a mediator between the two of them. But despite the kid's ignorance, Derek could sense he wouldn't tattle and eased up with a small step back. "Yeah, that's right." Stiles pushed his luck, running his mouth to cover up his nerves. "If I'm harboring your fugitive ass, it's my house, my rules."

Derek sighed, hardening his jaw as he straightened out Stiles' jacket with a small tug, stepping back to let him pass him by. He had a point, though he was almost positive that him being a fugitive was still entirely both he and Scott's fault. Riley sat on the edge of the bed then, her lips curving at their strange agreement as Stiles situated himself at his computer desk. "You have a warrant out for your arrest," she reminded the leather clad man who paced back and forth now, "and you somehow found it acceptable to hide out in the Sheriff's house?" She clicked her tongue against her cheek. "Your plan has many flaws."

He shot her a careless glance, his green eyes hooded beneath his full brows. He wasn't blind to that observation, of course he knew of the risk that came with his plan. He knew that traveling through a town of people on high alert meant he could be caught at any moment, but he took his chances, because he needed answers. Choosing to ignore her comment, he focused his attention back on Stiles. "Did Scott get the necklace?" He asked, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He'd given the Beta one job to do, and potentially one of the most promising theories in the case of his families murder. Because that's what it was . . . Murder. Despite the officials labeling it an accident, Derek somehow knew better. And despite the lack of evidence, he had a hunch as to who was behind all of it.

Shaking his head, Stiles confirmed what he hoped wouldn't be true. "He's still working on it." He turned in his swiveled chair to glance at him, another idea popping up inside his head. "There's actually something else we can solve in the meantime." Riley sat up straighter once Derek paused before her, his frame towering over her by a good eight inches. "The night we were all trapped in the school, Scott was suppose to meet up with Allison." He relayed the information with a quick breath, inhaling sharply before continuing. "He sent her a text that said," Stiles raised two fingers on each hand to resemble air quotes, "I'll see you soon."

Riley tilted her head just a bit to see Derek's reaction. His lips pressed into a thin line, shrugging his shoulders in a careless manor. "So?"

"So?" Stiles mocked him, his arms raising out in a questioning sway. "Scott didn't send that text, dumb-ass." He was ballsy with his choice of words now. "He was too preoccupied with not dying that he stood her up." He managed to explain. "I think . . ." He trailed of for a second. "I think someone hacked into his phone with the intention of getting Allison hurt."

Riley allowed his words to sink in, feeling a tether pull at her chest at the thought of someone hurting Allison Argent. She was too incredibly sweet and sincere to be thrown into the supernatural world. "Can we find out who sent it?" She spoke up, earning a nod of agreement from Derek as he looked back at her from over his shoulder.

If they could trace who sent the text, perhaps they could unveil it's senders true intention.

"I can't." Stiles shook his head, staring down at his hands before something just short of a light bulb flickered on inside his mind. "But I know someone who can!" He reached for his phone on top of his desk, his thumbs hastily pouncing against the screen with a look of dedication plastered over his face. He knew someone who was capable of hacking into software. Someone who would have no problem fishing out the IP address of the person with cruel intentions.

 

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Riley watched Stiles with speculative eyes as he fidgeted in his chair. His nervous hands passed a lacrosse ball back and forth as a way of eliminating his anxiety. He seemed on edge, as if there were more on his plate than he cared to share. Stiles Stilinski had always been a kind kid, strange, but mostly kind. Riley could see it in the simplicity of his features, from his hooked nose, freckled cheeks and glittering whiskey eyes. And despite his ability to overshadow his own emotion, he seemed unsure. Looking as if the whole world had suddenly been placed on his shoulders.

He was still just a kid, much like Riley, and in a way like Derek too. Perhaps their most common thread of relativity was having grown up much too soon. But maybe it wasn't just them, maybe it was every kid who has ever stepped foot within the supernatural world of Beacon Hills. Just a bunch of kids with a compassion that flooded their lungs. And then her eyes traveled back to Derek, who sat across from her in a lounge chair. His mossy eyes were transfixed on a book in his hands, keeping himself busy until his questions could be answered. Much like Stiles, he wore an expression all too familiar. It was one that suggested he wasn't ready for the truth. As if the weight of it would create an unsteady leverage over him. Derek Hale was far too good for his reputable accusations.

He could feel eyes on him, his fingers gripping the book too entirely tight once the pressure seemed to close in on him. Without having to even look up, he knew from which direction the lingering stare idled from. With a quick flare of his nostrils, he found it easier than usual to depict the scent of what she felt. It was stress. The overwhelming sensation that consumed her almost entirely. 'What did she have to be stressed about?', he wondered indifferently.

Unaware of the fact that this was an accustomed feeling that she felt almost everyday.

Maybe Derek didn't know her well enough--Scratch that--He knew he didn't know her all too well to make that assumption. It made him even more curious, allowing his gaze to slip from the open book in his lap, to the girl situated across from him. Once his eyes found hers, she dropped her stare almost immediately. A loose thread in her sweater was wrapped around her finger, toying with the string to keep her own mind at ease.  
And that's how it went for twenty silent minutes. Their eyes cautiously straining on one another, yet no one spoke up to fill the lack of conversation. It felt better that way, despite the tension that seemed to flood the room with each passing breath. But the longer Riley sat on the edge of Stiles' bed, the antsier she became.

Allowing a sigh to spill from her parted lips, she flopped back onto the bed with exasperation.

The longer she layed there, the more inclined she felt to take a nap.

Stiles glanced at her from his peripheral, watching as she cloaked her eyes with the inside of her elbow to block out the sun filtering in through his window. Her arm raised over her head, and as a result the hem of her shirt stretched out to expose her hips. The ball he juggled between his hands came to a sudden standstill, feeling a sweeping inability to focus on anything other than the curve of her exposed mid--drift. Of course he'd seen pretty girls naked before on a computer screen. And even something as innocent as the flat plane of her stomach as she splayed out carelessly across his bed made him think none innocent thoughts. He looked away finally once he found that his eyes had started to roam over her chest as her ribs expanded with each inhale and sunk in with each exhale.

He glance to Derek briefly, narrowing his eyes at the menace situated in the corner of his room as he too had allowed his gaze to wonder toward the girl laying back on the bed. He wanted to say something, like 'Keep your paws to yourself', but found it inappropriate considering the circumstances. As far as Stiles was concerned, someone like Derek would never be good enough for someone like Riley. His accusing thoughts were brought to a standstill as a sudden knock at his bedroom door brought his attention back. He fumbled from his seat, scrambling to reach the door in fear that it was his father again. The last thing he needed was to be caught with the towns most wanted man inside his room. Whipping the door open just a crack, he let out a heavy sigh of relief as Danny Maheleani stood on the opposite side. "Thank God." He huffed, opening the door wider to allow his fellow Sophomore inside. "I'm so glad you're here!"

Riley sat up lazily then at the commotion, her eyelids heavy after almost having fallen asleep.

"I got your text." Danny assured, dropping his school bag on the carpet at his feet. "You said you needed help with something?" Stiles nodded with a seemingly innocent face, pressing his lips into a thin line as he pulled the computer chair out for Danny to take a seat.

Danny smiled at Riley politely, such a gentle soul for someone who was best friends with Jackson Whittemore. He'd always been kind to Riley, and so she smiled back at him with as much encouragement as she could muster up, and yet, it still somehow felt fake. "That's right, Danny." Stiles agreed as he hovered over the teenager with a fidgety appearance. "I need you to do me a huge favor." The poor kid looked flustered, as if he already knew Danny's answer. "I need a little help tracing a text--"

Before Stiles could even stutter out a complete sentence, Danny was rolling his eyes as an annoyed look crossed his features. "No." He said simply with a firm shake of his head. "Absolutely not."

"Please?" Stiles begged, holding up two pleading palms as Danny reached for his bag to leave. "I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important."

Danny stood, shouldering the strap to his backpack as he narrowed his eyes into slits. Danny was handsome in a way that threatened most boys. His sharpened bone structure, dimpled cheeks and tanned skin all seemed to stem from his Hawaiian descent. "What makes you think I'd even know how to do that?" He remarked viciously.

Stiles cleared his throat, his lips parting for a second of awkward tension. He shuffled his weight from one leg to another stiffly. "I--uh--looked up your arrest report."

With widened eyes, Riley looked to Danny from a new perspective. She didn't suspect him to be the kind with any form of record. But that was the plus of being the son of a respected Sheriff, he could weasel his way into any document at any time. And like a light switch being flipped on, she saw something just short of anger begin to bubble within Danny. "You what?" He seethed, more embarrassed than anything. "I was thirteen and they dropped the charges!"

Sensing the hesitation begin to flare up, Riley stood up with the determination to intervene. Using the opportunity to settle the subject before any more outbursts could happen. "I know it's a huge favor to ask," Riley softened her voice as Danny turned to face her, "but, we would really appreciate it if you could help us out."

Danny had liked Riley since the day she sat down next to him on the bus. She'd had a certain vibe about her that was hard to shrug off. But this was asking too much, he thought. It was then that his eyes wandered past Riley and to the man situated in the corner of the room, seated in a cushioned chair with a book in his hands. And without addressing Riley's plea, he furrowed his brow and pointed at Derek Hale. "Whose that?" He wondered briefly.

Both Riley and Stiles shifted their eyes from Derek to Danny, just now piecing together the idea that maybe having Derek present was a bad idea. "Him?" Stiles stammered, trying to direct the attention away from the werewolf in his room. "Oh," he laughed nervously, "that's--uh--just my cousin . . . Miguel." He lied feverishly. "He's visiting from Mexico."

Derek peeked up from his book, keeping his features stern without even a hint of pleasantry in their gleam. "He kinda looks like that mass murderer that's been all over the news lately." Danny speculated, Riley laughed awkwardly to make up for the fact that Danny was a hundred percent right. "Nice to meet you." He smiled genuinely as his dimpled cheeks stretched across his perfect teeth.

"He doesn't speak English." Stiles spit out quickly, trying to diffuse a situation from escalating. It was the first excuse he could think of, clenching his jaw for being more moronic than usual.

"Oh." Danny pursed his lips, still keeping a firm eye on Derek. "Hola," He repeated instead, his years of Spanish finally paying off. "Como estas?" Riley watched as Stiles shook his head frantically from behind Danny, signaling to Derek to keep his mouth shut.

"He's also deaf!" Stiles huffed urgently, kicking himself for opening his mouth again.

Riley glanced back to Derek timidly, surprised that he still remained calm and quiet as he played along with Stiles idiocy. Danny nodded in suprise, removing his hands from his pockets as he cupped his hands, facing them down, at his chest before rotating them upward to face the ceiling, a gesture that asked how he was. He pointed then to Derek with confidence and complete silence. Of course Danny, the multilingual mastermind of Beacon Hills High, knew sign language.

But Derek did not respond, to which Stiles was quick to reason why. "He's--uh--also--uh--blind." Riley gritted her teeth, clenching her hands into fists behind her back as Stiles dug himself a deeper hole. She just glanced to Derek nervously, her eyes pleading with him to keep his mouth shut and not give Danny any reason to believe that he is, in fact, the most wanted man in Beacon County.

"He's reading a book?" Danny pointed out, eyeing the hard cover copy of some unidentified author as it splayed over Derek's lap.

Riley cleared her throat, "It's in braille." She confirmed.

Upon closer inspection, Danny studied the man with close eyes before noticing an alarming detail. "Is that . . . Is that blood on his shirt?" Upon the color of Derek's Henley, a dime sized shade of crimson red stained it's fabric. At this moment, Riley wondered why they hadn't't just locked Derek in the closet before Danny came, it would have saved them all this speculation and stress.

Stiles, who was now visibly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation had gone, frantically searched for another explanation. "Yeah," he nodded anxiously, "He get's these terrible nose bleeds--"

"The worst." Riley interjected with false honesty.

Stiles bent down to retrieve a black ball of fabric bunched up at his feet, tossing it to Riley with a quick arm. "He should probably change his shirt." He enunciated, keeping his wide and narrowed eyes cast on Derek. "Can you take Derek to the bathroom?" He asked from between clenched teeth, trying to keep his cool once Riley nodded.

She held the black and worn out shirt in one hand, reaching for Derek's wrist with the other. He stood, letting the book he'd been pretending to read fall to the floor once Riley's palm encircled his. She pretended to guide him, putting on a show for Danny's benefit as she lead him from his chair and towards the door to the hallway.

Derek wanted to be angry for how Stiles handled the situation, but all he could focus on was the warmth gathering in the tips of his fingers as Riley kept her clasped hand in his. Upon exiting the bedroom, she peeked her head out into the hallway as she peered down its length for any signs of Sheriff Stilinski. She could hear the faint echo of the T.V. in the living room, the recorded cheers of a baseball game clouding her judgement. Leading him into the hallway, Riley shut the door behind her to give them privacy, hoping Stiles could charm Danny into somehow using his tech skills to help them trace the text. Still keeping a loose grip on his hand, she lead him to the end of the hall, stopping just before the window with the view of their backyard. "I'm gonna kill him." Derek finally broke his facade, the first words spilling from his mouth both a threat and a promise.

Riley let him go of his hand then, a sense of bitter cold straining their fingers as their hands became stiff at their sides. She shoved the shirt at him, giving him a stern look. "No," she argued, "you're not."

"I am." He concluded with a determined snarl, keeping his voice in a low whisper. She could see the vengeance glittering within his eyes, both sour and yet somehow soft. "This was a bad idea." He seethed, knowing that Danny could piece it together and go to the police. He was already keeping a low profile as it was, he didn't think he could go much lower.

"It won't be if it works." She justified in a harsh breath.

"If.'' Derek reiterated. His hands clasped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head as both he and Riley stood within a close proximity of one another. Riley felt a heat raise up her neck as her eyes traced the prominent structure of his hips, all the way up to his chest. Riley always knew he was strong from just seeing the way his muscles sometimes strained beneath his clothes, but seeing the definition of its pattern under his smooth skin made her wonder how many raw eggs he had to eat for breakfast to keep his health so well maintained.

Riley cleared the lodge in her throat, adverting her eyes as she spoke cautiously. "Would it kill you to be optimistic for once?"

Thrusting his bloodied and balled up shirt into Riley's hands, Derek stretched the shirt that was two sizes too small over his head. "Yes." He huffed, breaking his stance as he headed back in the direction of the bedroom. As he walked away, Riley could see a visible tattoo etched into the centered space between his shoulder blades, unable to identify it before the fabric of his new shirt cascaded down his back. Feeling trapped within her own body for a moment longer, she finally unfroze and followed his frame back into Stiles' room.

Both Stiles and Danny were hovering over the laptop, talking in quiet voices as Riley shut the door behind her, coming to stand behind the two boys.

Stiles must have worked some kind of deal, as Danny now typed cryptic codecs into an unrecognizable sight. "Any luck?" She asked, trying to determine if what Danny was doing made any sense. It didn't. At least not to her, but perhaps someone who got off on hacking cell phones.

"Almost." Danny clarified. "Any minute now." His fingers stopped dancing across the keyboard, shifting back into his seat as a new page loaded. "Ah--ha!" Danny grinned in acceptance as he pointed at the screen of the laptop. "The text was sent from a computer." He studied the information for a moment with observing eyes. "The IP address indicates it came from Beacon Hills Long Term Care Facility."

 

 

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Bracing herself against the back seat of the Jeep, Riley peaked over the front seat to see Stiles' speedometer inching over eighty miles an hour. He seemed frantic and on edge as he sped carelessly down the freeway. Derek rode up front in the passenger seat, though the speed didn't seem to bother him. "Isn't' your comatose uncle a patient here?" Stiles managed to remember despite the nerves raking through him. It took a second for Derek to reply, but when he did, he did so silently. A small nod of his head was all Riley could make out from the backseat, remembering the time Allison told her about the fire. It still felt hard to imagine the grief Derek must have been put through, to feel like gravity has pinned you down. It was a feeling Riley knew, but not to that extent. And despite her loss, she felt lucky to have had it only been one death to mourn, and not eight.

A soft melody filled the silent cab then, looking to Stiles as he reached for his phone. "Hey, Scott." He placed his friend on speaker phone, keeping one hand on the wheel. "Any luck with the necklace?" His voice was concerned, yet undeniably eager.

"I think so." Scott's voice crackled from the other line. He seemed distressed. "Her necklace looks just like the drawing Derek gave me."

Stiles held up the phone in the center, allowing everyone to hear Scott. "Is there something on the back?" Derek spoke up, his brows knitted together cautiously. "An inscription, and opening? Anything?"

Scott spoke with honesty almost immediately. "No." He commented. "No, the things flat. It doesn't open. There's nothing in it, on it or around it." His voice was hasty now, assuring them that perhaps their speculation about Allison was wrong. "And where the hell are you, Stiles?" His voice rose into a hiss. "You were suppose to be here a half an hour ago. You're first line!"

Riley had forgotten about the lacrosse game tonight, having dedicated her entire day to uncovering the truth. "I know." Stiles hummed in a dampened tone. He pulled into the parking lot of the Long Term Care Center, parking his Jeep easily before leaning his head back against his seat. "Listen," he sighed, "If you see my dad there, just cover for me until I get there, okay?" He was careful to hide the evident knowledge that he most likely would not be able to play in tonight's game.

He ended the brief call then with Scott, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "You won't make it." Derek murmured, ensuring he was fully aware that their goal tonight did not include a High School Lacrosse game.

"I'm aware of that, thanks." He replied coldly.

Riley leaned forward from the backseat again, situated between the two of them as she rested her elbows against her knees. "What are we looking for exactly?" She pegged, eyeing the sign that indicated the facilities entrance. "The text told us where it was sent from, not who sent it."

"I guess we'll find out." Stiles hummed.

He reached for the handle of the door, shuffling out before Derek's voice spoke up. "One more thing . . ." He trailed off, looking to Stiles expectantly as if he were going to say something. Derek's hand snaked around the back of Stiles' neck, cupping the curve of his head before slamming it forward. The sound of Stiles' forehead smacking against the steering wheel made her flinch. Stiles groaned, rubbing his temple as he concentrated on anything other than the throbbing.

"What the hell--"

"You know what that was for." Derek insinuated. He'd told Riley earlier that he was going to kill him, but inflicting pain seemed more reasonable . . . Considering the circumstances. Stiles had almost gotten him caught earlier when he'd scrambled to cover up his lies to Danny. "Go." Derek instructed then, pointing to the entrance of the facility. "Go!"

Stiles fumbled from the front seat, rubbing his temple adamantly before slamming his car door. Riley followed behind, not wanting to stay in the car with him as he rode out his temper tantrum. "Asshole." She grumbled under breath, directed at Derek before quickening her pace to catch up with Stiles. He felt the shudder of her car door slamming radiate through his body, as if an avalanche of hatred had just rained down on him. He figured she'd react that way, but there was still a part of him that wished she would have stayed behind with him. And for only a second, he envied Stiles as he watched Riley's hand graze his shoulder gently, before both of them disappeared into the entrance of the facilities lobby.  
Remaining stranded in the car, keeping a low profile in fear that someone else might recognize him.

The nurses desk was vacant as Riley and Stiles slipped by briskly. The energy inside the building felt off, like it had been rewired to make them feel uneasy. Visitors would typically need to sign in and wait for a nurse to escort them back, but they ignored the clipboard on the counter, bypassing the signs indicating someone would be there shortly. Falling in step beside Stiles, they headed past the door and toward the hallway of residents.  
The doors to each room were closed, as if the patients had requested some form of privacy.

Keeping her eyes intently focused on their trail ahead, she began to notice a knot form within the tides of her stomach. It clenched violently, her lungs beginning to swell with a sense of danger. Something was off, she noted. Finding herself drifting closer to Stiles almost subconsciously, she tried to rationalize her fear. Perhaps this feeling had more to do with her emotional state than it did with the actual facility.

And as much as she tried to convince herself, she felt lied to.

"I don't think I've ever seen a Hospital so empty." Stiles mentioned.

They'd rounded nearly four corners by now, and not a single nurse was in sight. Riley's pace slowed then, noticing the passing rooms as the patients names were plastered on the doors, indicating which rooms belonged to whom. As if they had a mind of their own, her feet came to a sudden stop. Riley legs felt heavy, as if stone blocks had been tied around her ankles. Pausing just outside Peter Hale's room, she found that his door was the only one opened, yet still vacant inside. A quiet buzz echoed then, feeling a vibration settle within the back pocket of her jeans as she reached for her phone. "Derek's calling." She sighed, answering it with one swift swipe. "What now?" She asked, watching as Stiles ventured just a few feet further.

"Have you found anything yet?" He asked, itching to be inside in hopes of finding something himself. He was eager for answers after having only sat in the Jeep for a solid ten minutes. Derek Hale was not a patient man.

"Not yet." She managed to say,still actively browsing each passing room. "This place is like a ghost town."

The other end of the phone was silent for a second. "A ghost town?" He questioned.

"Yes, Derek." Riley repeated. "A ghost town. A saying used to express a place of isolation and or vacant-ness. Would you like me to also spell it?"

Her sarcasm was heightened to new levels, feeling pressured to resolve an issue she had no control over. From his end of the line, Derek narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Well just look for Nurse Jen," he insisted, "She's the one that looks after my uncle."

And from up ahead, Stiles rose his arms out in an obvious display of mockery. "That's a swell idea there, Derek." The freckle faced teenager snarked. "I wish we would have thought of that earlier, except she's not here either." Riley looked back to the empty room that belonged to Derek's uncle. Just looking at it made her spine tingle.

"What?" Derek questioned.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles scoffed. "I swear that guy is deaf." He concluded to Riley, stepping closer as he rose his voice an octave higher. "Your. Uncle. Isn't. Here." He enunciated each word with a venom like tone.

A tense moment of silence seemed to pass over them, hanging heavily in the air as if to make them suffocate. Holding the phone in her hand, Riley could slowly start to feel her skin become ice. A clear indicator that her hunch about something being wrong was not that far off. "Get out of there right now," Derek's voice cracked through, "It's him!" He declared after a moment of piecing it together. "He's the Alpha!" Without having to think twice, Riley's hand latched around Stiles, tugging him forward as she turned on her heel to sprint back down the hallway and toward the exit. Her pace would have been quick, if it hadn't of been for an older gentleman idling in her way. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere, blocking their chance for any form of escape. The phone went dead, gripping it tightly as Stiles tugged her back a few steps and away from the man.

Without having to ask, Riley already knew who he was. His features were far too similar to Derek Hale for them not to be related. The shape of their jawline, the straightened hairline and thinned top lip. He was Peter Hale in the flesh. Trading in his comatose state of mind for Alpha status. Riley's eyes trailed over the right side of his face, too stunned to move as the burn scars overlapped his skin from temple to jaw. "You must be Stiles," his voice was like honey, looking to the boy who seemed to cower behind a girl almost half his size. He then glanced to her, his lips turned down into a permanent scowl from his scars. "And of course, you're Riley."

Pressing herself against Stiles chest, she tried to create distance between her and the Alpha. A seemingly innocent man with a monster clawing it's way through his chest. And as Riley studied him closer, taking in the soft smirk on his mouth and how it made her own throat tighten at the sight, she wondered how Peter Hale had slipped off their radar. He'd been comatose for almost six years now according to Derek, but if that were the case, how had he healed enough to become an Alpha? And then it hit her all at once, feeling Stiles shudder behind her once the humanized Alpha began to circle around them.

Derek's sister had survived the fire, leadership falling onto her shoulders like a right of passage. And when she had died, it was unknown as to where her Alpha power ended up fueling. It made sense now as she glared into the pristine and hollow eyes of Derek's uncle. Peter had killed his own niece, Laura, for her power.

Peter could sense her heart rate inclining, feeling like a predator as it stalked its pray. He eyed the girl speculatively as she shielded the boy who coward behind her. As he circled around them, she kept her own feet moving, always facing him despite his rotating pace. Despite the acknowledgment in her eyes, both wide and breathtaking, Peter could not sense her fear. Perhaps it was because she used her pent up energy from being afraid, and manifested it into something else. Something stronger and brave.

He liked that about her, knowing it must have been why his nephew was so infatuated with her as well. The Hale men always sought out strong women, and Riley was no exception. Peter paused then, his pace coming to a sudden stand still as a low growl echoed off the Hospital walls. Peter's bright blue eyes narrowed as Derek Hale shifted into view. He exposed his fangs, his green eyes fading into an electric a threatening blue. Riley and Stiles were caught between them, instinctively shuffling closer to Derek. Stepping forward slowly, he put himself between Riley and his uncle. His thin lips were curled over his gums, his pearly white teeth bared in a dangerous manner. "Go." He muttered in a guttural voice. Riley felt her knees buckle once Stiles grasped her hand in his, pulling her a safe distance from the brawl he knew would inevitably follow. They perched behind the nurses station, watching with wild eyes and locked limbs as the two werewolves lunged at one another.

Riley's breathing hitched within her throat, watching as Derek somehow seemed to lose his upper hand. Peter was strong, his body having spent six years of his life healing cell by cell. "You think I killed Laura on purpose?" Peter's voice was soft, controlled and silky as he fisted the collar of Derek's shirt, pinning him against the wall. It cracked beneath the pressure of Derek's weight, debris fluttering gently within the air. "My own family?" He sounded appalled that Derek would pin such a thing on him, but the truth was now a fact. Derek's wounded body slid to the ground at his uncle's feet, not having expected him to be a peak performance. It was Riley who stepped forward, only to have Stiles drag her back once Peter's clawed hand snaked around his nephews throat, dragging him across the tiled floors of the Hospital. "My mind," Peter remarked carefully, "was literally burned out of me." He reflected on the fire that ruined his life. "I was being driven by pure instinct."

Trying to justify his actions when it came to murdering Derek's sister. Releasing his hold on Derek's throat, his body slumped back as he sprawled along the floor. He caught his breath, feeling his wounded body already begin to heal itself. "You want forgiveness?" Derek scoffed, sitting up on his elbows as he directed an accusing and malicious glare Peter's way.

Derek stumbled as he regained his composure, standing on his own two feet as he stood toe to toe with the Alpha. Derek didn't just want revenge . . . He wanted justice. He wanted his uncle to suffer for what he'd done to his sister. Reliving the memory of finding her body in the woods tunneled his vision, focusing in on the smirk that crept across the face of the person he grew up admiring. Peter hadn't always just been his uncle, but someone he use to rely on once upon a time. And without thinking, Derek's curled fist struck his jawline with as much force as his worn out body could forge.

The force of the blow did not seem to phase Peter as both Riley and Stiles watched on from the safety of the nurses desk. Behind a shield of glass that only seemed to magnify the illusion that Peter was still somehow stronger than any of them could really fathom. "I want understanding." His uncle clarified, raising his leg up before extending it forward. His foot came in contact with Derek's chest, thrusting him backward as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years?" He pegged, slowly inching closer to Derek's body. He glanced at his uncle, his lips parted just enough for Riley to see his teeth stained with blood. "Slowly healing." He recalled. "Cell by cell." Pausing just a few inches from where Derek lay, he nodded firmly. "Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura did push me over a plateau in the healing process."

Derek struggled to push himself to his knees, feeling the weight of his own defeat begin to paralyze him. But the more he spoke about Laura, the more anger that seemed to flood his lungs. His older sister had been all that was left of his family. She was his rock. His friend and his mentor. Laura Hale took pride in being an Alpha, she did not boast or dictate. She lead him in a way that his mother Talia would have been proud of. But Peter . . . Peter was different. He was cruel and misguided. People would die under his leadership.

He found his feet again, swaying slightly as a dizziness clouded his mind. "I'd still be stuck in a coma if it weren't for her." Peter assured lightly. "Laura's sacrifice is what helped me heal. I suppose I'd owe her a 'thank you'." Hearing the words fall so carelessly from his lips made a bustle of fire surge inside Derek's veins. He wanted to tear Peter apart, much like he had done to Laura. He swung his fist again, missing him as Peter dodged it lithely. His other arm raised, swinging through as a heavy and stifled breath spit from between Derek's gritted teeth.

Peter's palm caught Derek's fist mid strike, deflecting the blow with a strong will. He constricted his fingers around his nephews knuckles, and from across the hall, Riley could hear a sickening crunch. A ragged groan escaped Derek's lungs, feeling his cry somehow shake her core. And as his head was thrown back in pain, Peter latched his hands onto Derek's leather jacket, thrusting him to the side as his body flailed. It was Stiles who pulled Riley to the ground and beneath the nurses desk as Derek's frame bustled through the glass window. The sound of it shattering caused Riley to shudder deeper into Stiles shoulder, feeling the shards rain down on them. Derek's body landed with a thud, rolling to a stop just a few feet in front of her.

He looked physically pained, having given everything he had to inflict vengeance on his Uncle. But he'd been stronger than him, having the power of being an Alpha aide in his advantage.

Derek's head shook, clearing it from the haze that clouded over his eyes. It was then that he saw her, hunched beneath the desk with eyes solely focused on him. He could feel something just short of worry emanate from her as that feeling crashed into him. It was like a wave of emotion surfacing as Riley's brows inched together, worried creases embedding themselves into her smooth skin. It was like she wanted to help him, but didn't know what she could do. But he gave her a small and quick shake of his head, signaling her to keep herself hidden.

The crunch of Peter's boots against the glass littering the tile brought his attention back to the fight, his uncle sauntering forward in a slow and threatening manner. Derek began to back pedal, heaving himself backward inch by inch until his body was out of Riley's view. He attempted to lead Peter away, hoping that with Riley out of sight, he wouldn't bring someone innocent into their brawl. He lead him past the nurses station further from the hall, their voices now a numb whisper along the walls of the Hospital as Stiles shuffled from beneath the desk first. Riley's body felt weak, just from seeing the brutal defeat of Derek Hale. This wasn't the first time Peter had hurt him . . . Physically at least. Recalling the incident at the school, she remembered the Alpha having embedded it's claws into Derek's back, shredding his skin as if it were paper thin.

Rising to her feet, she brushed off the reaming pieces of glass from her clothes, her eyes violently shifting back and forth to find him. They were out of sight now, causing an uproar of anxiety to form in the pit of her stomach. She had a feeling that this wasn't a family squabble that could easily be resolved. The murder of Laura Hale would not be forgiven with a simple apology, she expected more from Derek when it came to justice for his sister. Peter would pay for what he did, but the longer she stood there numbly, her eyes strained on the room they'd disappeared into, she wondered if only one of them would make it out.

And if so, which one?


	7. Consider it a Promise

It was hard to focus on school when Riley knew a psychotic, mass murdering, Alpha werewolf was roaming the town. Not that there hadn't been before, but they atleast knew who it was now. From what Riley could gather, Peter Hale was a callous man. He lived by no law and justified his actions as a form of vengence. But as she sat with both Scott and Stiles at lunch, hearing her friend speak on the Alpha's behalf, she wondered whose side he was really on. Scott McCall did not join forces with his creator for a reason. He did not want to be labeled a murderer by association alone. "All the people that Peter killed," Scott sighed after a moment, "Weren't all exactly innocent either." Riley seemed to sink lower into the bench, facing him with an annoyed look upon her face. She did not like the direction this conversation was headed, using the opportunity to distract herself by skimming the pad of her pinky finger around the brim of her soda can.

It was unreasonably hot for Northern California, reaching well into the eighties.

And as the three of them sat within close proximity of one another, isolated to each others company in the school's courtyard, Riley began to make a mental list of all the people who had died at Peter's wrath. The School bus driver; remembering the massacre of blood made her stomach tighten. The movie rental clerk and the janitor . . . And probably more that she could not think of at the moment, because her mind was too clouded with judgement. "All those people were involved with the fire that killed the Hale family." Scott added in a somber tone.

Riley clenched her teeth, the memory of Derek just a few nights prior as both he and his uncle settled their differences in hopes of finding out who the arsonist that lead these people really were. Who was the individual that planned the deaths of the Hale family . . . And more importantly, why? "You're being awfully quiet about all of this." Stiles nudged her, to which her stiffened frame seemed to relax.

Shrugging her shoulder as a way of concluding that she remained indifferent seemed to throw them off. The boys were surprised she didn't have her own two cents to add in. "Derek said he'd keep Peter in line," Scott hinted, though his voice made it seem as if he didn't really believe that. He found it hard to imagine anyone keeping Peter Hale in formation when his true nature was to spill blood. He hoped, for Beacon Hills sake, that Derek kept that promise.

The bell rang suddenly, jolting Riley from her deep thoughts as she fumbled for her bag. "We're still on for the movie night at my house, right?" Stiles asked as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. Riley did not respond, but listened intently as Scott agreed. After everything that happened the past few weeks, maybe a casual night indoors would help reset their tired minds and prepare them for any more bloodshed coming their way. And despite the poor timing, she nodded her head in assurance that this feeble get together could be their last one for a while.

Something bad was coming . . . Riley could feel it.

 

 

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Stiles' house was quiet as they tip toed through the front door. His father, Sheriff Stilinski, had his car parked out front on the curb. Dropping her bags on the couch within the living room, Riley allowed the warmth of his home to gravitate toward her. This was what she imagined a home to feel like, a feeling she hadn't felt in almost a year. Back when she'd lived in San Diego, the safety net that her family had created within her childhood seemed to vanish once her father had walked out on them. It was a feeling that never returned after that.

But this was close enough. It felt familiar in a way, though she was certain Stiles would have disagreed. Because once his mother had died, something had seemed to shift within his house as well. It felt colder somehow. Hollow. It felt void of the laughter that once plagued the halls. But he never spoke about it, and he probably never would. "Stiles?" A voice traveled from the dining room, slurred and slow. "Is that--is that you?"

Stiles shook his head, "No," he mumbled to himself, "It's a serial killer . . . Of course it's me." He seemed exsasperated all of a sudden as Riley followed him toward the kitchen. His father was situated at the table with a crystalized glass and a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels. His father was handsome for having just reached forty years old. He looked a lot like Stiles in a way, with his goofy grin and narrow and hooked nose. But his eyes were a pastel blue, almost too pigmented to be real. And as Riley studied them for a moment, she could see the glossiness reside within them. John Stilinski's glasses were barely hanging on the tip of his nose, his mousey brown hair seemed unkept and dull.

He smiled to Riley from over Stiles shoulder, his body relaxed and mind too muddled for a Thursday afternoon. "Wha--what are you and Ms. Haven up to?" He stammered over his words, his inebriated state starting to get the best of him.

Stiles ran an uncomfortable hand over his shaved head, embarrassed by his fathers daytime drinking. "Just a movie night with Scott." He emphasized his best friends name, hoping his father would not get the wrong impression. He was all too familiar with seeing his father like this these days. His drinking had died down the last year, only to pick back up again as of recent. Perhaps it was the stress at work that lead him to drown his thoughts with alcohol. It was harder and harder to solve these murder cases when his father had no idea that they were simply not just animal attacks. "We'll be in my room if you need anything." Stiles reminded, keeping an open invitation for his father, in case his drunken state of mind needed something. He turned then, signaling to Riley for them to make an escape while they still could.

"Hey, Stiles?" John Stilinski murmured, his voice both giddy and soft. "Keep the door open."

At that, Riley pursed her lips and stifled a laugh. It was a kind gesture for his dad to look out for him, even when he couldn't quite look out for himself. Stiles balled his hands into fists, his cheeks flushing a shade of red that could only indicate his sheer embarrassment. He did not respond, but instead brushed past Riley and toward his bedroom. Even if being alone with Riley had been his intention, his father would have ruined it anyway. And what was worse than being a sexually frustrated sixteen year old virgin? Being reminded of that fact in front of a girl he liked by his own father. Stiles bustled through his room, flipping the lights on without a word. Riley followed behind, still wearing her contained smile as she pressed them into a thin line to supress the grin. Something about Stiles flustered and embarrassed really caused her joy.

His bedroom was already a familiar place for her, having spent almsot an entire afternoon here just a week prior. She situated herself on the edge of his bed, watching as he toyed with his Playstation for a few minutes. "Sorry about him." He finally said as he stood up, keeping his controller in a tight grip within his palms. "He's never usually that drunk."

"It's fine." She assured him.

"It's not fine." He mentioned, keeping his eyes on the T.V. screen as he set up the movie they were going to watch. "He's just been stressed at work, ya know?" Riley nodded, fully understanding the difficulties he must have faced. "People are counting on him to solve these murders and he can't solve anything because, he doesn't know anything." He looked frustrated as he spoke, justifying his fathers actions as if they were his own.

Riley simply nodded, not wanting to upset him further. It took a minute for the menu screen for the movie to pop up, and once it did, Riley shuffled back against the headboard of the bed, resting her feet. Stiles reached for his phone on his desk once it had gone off, reading the screen for a brief second before setting it back down. "Scott's not coming." He finalized after he'd read the text from his best friend. "He had to bail."

Picking at the skin around the cuticle of her nail, she thoroughly deducted that she would have to have a stern talking to with Scott McCall. Bailing on movie night was not acceptable, nor was it appreciated, especially now that it left her alone with Stiles. It wasn't that she felt uncomfortable with him, but she knew that her feelings for him did not align with how he felt about her. And Stiles silently thanked whatever force there was from above that tonight had turned into a two--some. He pressed play mechanically, dive bombing onto his bed beside Riley before shifting into a comfortable position. "You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" He asked, side eying Riley as she pealed back the wrapper of a bag of twizzlers.

Shaking her head, "Nope." Her lips formed a popping sound, and Stiles' palms began to sweat as he reached for the switch to his bed side lamp.

The movie progressed quickly, his favorite series playing before him, but all he could focus on was the strained beating of his nervous heart. The room was cascaded in darkness, save for the T.V. screen that illuminated the shadows on Riley's face. And as he watched her watch the movie, all he could do was conjure up reasons as to why he thought she'd be a good fit for him. Her maturity was somewhat of a turn on for him, because it balanced out his childish behavior. She recipricated his sarcasm with her own brand of sass, which lead him to believe they were a well deserved match. And sometimes he envied his best friend Scott, for having the confidence he lacked. For being brave and comfortable with who he was enough to catch the girl of his dreams. Where as Stiles had spent the better part of seven years trying to get Lydia Martin to even notice him.

Perhaps this was him moving on . . . Or it was his was of getting second best.

After what felt like hours, Riley's voice finally broke through the silence between them, drowning out the television set as she kept her eyes glued to the screen. "Paul Walker is one of the most attractive human beings on this planet." She rationalized, keeping her stare glued to the sandy blonde and sweet smiled actor in the movie they watched. "He could punch me in the face and I'd probably thank him."

Stiles had finally turned his head then to look at her. The profile view of her features were shadowed by the darknened room. Her lips seemed to move in a sincere way, though her voice seemed to tunnel away from his ears as he became lost in the smooth plane of her mouth and how it moved. He envisioned the way it would feel beneath his own and how one simple action could make his stomach split into dozens of shards of glass.

She was remarkable to look at.

His breathing stopped all together then, his lungs deflating like a slashed basketball. He wanted to be brave for just one second, because just one second of doing what felt impossible could have made all the difference. He wrung his sweaty palms together, inclining his head forward and then back again when he felt as if he'd punk out. And then he remembered to breathe again, and the air filled his lungs as if to remind him to not be a coward. Puckering his lips with slight fear, he leaned to his side with the intention of making a move on Riley. And just like in math class, his calculations were always just a bit off. Overshooting the longitude of her lips, his temple lodged itself into her eye as his lips brushed over her chin. In surprise, Riley flinched back, her fingers weaving up to caress the impact within her eye as she looked at him incredulously. "What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles sunk back against the head board, somehow more embarrassed by this moment than he had been about his father's sexual remark earlier. "Nothing!" He claimed innocently with fidgeting limbs, "What are you doing?" His voice was high pitched and stuttering.

"Trying to watch the damn movie, Stiles!" Riley leaned away, dropping her hand once the jabbing sensation within the socket of her eye eased. She wasn't stupid, having already caught on to his intentions as if they were as clear as day. She hadn't expected that, knowing she hadn't sent him any signals indicating that she was interested in the slightest.

And Stiles must have been able to read into the annoyed expression crossing her features, because his once gleeful eyes now looked ashamed. He rubbed the palms of his hands against his jean clad thighs, clearing his throat as he turned his eyes away from her. "Sor--sorry." He stammared. "I--uh--sorry." He repeated.

An uncomfortable chill radiated through her shoulders, feeling locked within her own body until she could finally stand. "I should--I should go." She retorted, reaching for her jacket before shrugging it over her shoulders. Stiles made no move to ask her to stay, but just remained uncharacteristically still as he watched her collect her things from his peripheral vision. And the feeling that flooded him was all too familiar. It was rejection. Knowing now that Riley would not feel the same about him, just like Lydia, just like every other girl in school. And he couldn't help but wonder if it was him. What was it about him that made him feel so lonesome? What had he done to feel like he would never be good enough for anybody? A heat gathered in his eyes, swallowing the denial the same way his father drank his whiskey. In a swig of self depreciation.

Heading for the door in a haste to escape the awkwardness, she was stopped dead within her tracks by a windblown and wheezing teenager. Scott McCall skidded to a halt in the hallway, his breathing haggard and eyes wild. And just from looking at him, Riley could sense that something was wrong. "Derek's been taken."

And the tension grew thicker as if to swallow the three of them whole. Stiles perked from his seat upon his bed, standing up frantically as he took his stance beside Riley. "What happened?" He asked as if the earlier embarassment had melted from his mind.

The two of them took a step back, allowing Scott enough room to bypass them as he began to pace the length of Stiles bedroom. "I've been keeping tabs on Jackson all day," he reminded, "making sure he stays out of trouble, ya know?" The two of them nodded in unison, remembering how the jock wished to have the same bite gifted unto him just like Scott. "I followed him out to the old Hale house," He fought to catch his breath, feeling an anxiety attack begin to brew within his insides, "Derek was there and I think Jackson thought he could give him what he wanted, but Derek wouldn't be able to trust him with knowing about Werewolves . . ." He trailed off, his eyes widening at the memory.

Riley had never seen Scott so worked up, her brows furrowing in a sympathetic way as Stiles gathered what Scott failed to speak. "He was going to kill him." He acknowledged from Riley's side.

"I intervened and Jackson made it out." He managed to continue as Riley took note of the deep scratches along his forearms. They'd already begun to heal, but Derek must have done some damage to make him bleed. "And then--" he shook his head, "--and then we heard gunfire. Bullets were coming straight through the walls. Derek said to go out through the back, that he would cover me . . . And when I looked back he was gone."

"Gone?" Riley questioned. "Like dead?"

Stiles did not fail to notice the worry laced within her tone. "Do you know who took him?" Stiles maintained a calm demeanor, his nerves from earlier having faded away.

Scott's shoulders shook, his body still in shock as he finally became hyperaware of the circumstance. "Kate Argent." He breathed. "Allison's aunt."

 

 

 

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It was abundantly clear what the repercussions of Kate's wrath could be as Riley waited patiently on a bench inside of an outdated mall. To keep her mind off of the necessity of needing to find Derek, she allowed herself to tally up all the terrible things that would happen regardless of if they ever did. A twisted way of trying to settle any unanswered questions within her own head, giving her a migraine the more and more she thought about it. What would Kate Argent want with Derek Hale? Sure, she derived from a family of werewolf hunters, but what purpose would she have to take him hostage? It baffled her, hoping her second theory would answer the questions for her. Because if what Scott had said, about the arsonist behind the Hale family fire wearing a pendant from the Argent family, could that mean that perhaps Kate had been the ring leader?

Or the fact that it put a target on Allison's back now, to be related to someone who thoughtlessly killed an innocent family. This was one notion she knew would be true, because vengence was not often fought with an opponents direct foe, it was inflicted on someone close to them . . . Riley had promised herself and Scott that she'd keep an eye on Allison, so long as he kept searching for the missing werewolf. They all had jobs to do now . . . Yet they all had seemed to revolve around keeping someone alive.

From the distance, Riley could see the unmistakable curl of Lydia Martin's signature red hair. They bounced at her waist with each propelling step she took in her direction. Allison Argent walked alongside her, shy and dismal in comparison to the runway model at her side. Riley stood then, urging a smile to slip over her lips to ensure her friends knew that her mind didn't wander elsewhere. Lydia bypassed her with a tight lipped grin and kept walking towards the dress store, her heels clicking against the tiled floors. Allison slowed her pace to match it to Riley's, looping her arm through hers as they followed behind. "Why is she in such a rush?" Riley asked in a low voice, her eyes deeply focused on the long strides of that of their friend.

"There's a dress she wants for the formal tonight." Allison shrugged. "They apparently only have one left in stock." Riley nodded, figuring that was a good enough explanation for Lydia's hustle. "You're going tonight, right?" Allison's brunette hair was pinned back at the bangs, her square jawline expanding as she smiled briefly.

Entering the store with a slight shake of her head, she could see the wall of dresses aligned towards the back. "High School dances aren't really my thing." She concluded. Truth was, she'd never been to one before and didn't think now was a good time to start tradition.

Rolling her doe--like eyes, Allison's cheeks dimpled with a simple grin. "Couldn't get a date in time?" She pegged, her tone sarcastic and not aimed to offend Riley. She jokingly shot daggers back at her, mocking her silently as Allison began to sift through dresses with nimble hands. "You know," she began with a slight incline of her voice, "I don't think Stiles has a date either--"

"I'm going to stop you right there." Riley held up her palm for Allison to see, watching as the brunettes cheeks flooded pink as she tried to supress a wild grin. "Stiles and I are never going to happen." Riley shook her head, her eyes narrowed in fake pity toward her friend. "Ever." She reiterated when it looked as if Allison was about to speak on his behalf. "Besides," Riley leaned against the clothing rack with a quick nod of her head in Lydia's direction, "he's got his heart set on another girl."

Allison didn't look in Lydia's direction, but instead plucked a dress from the rack and draped it over her arm to try on. "I have a feeling that's never going to happen either." She commented reluctantly, knowing Lydia's standards were much to high for an overactive spaz like Stiles. Nodding her head, she silently agreed. Why was it that Stiles went after girls who would never like him back? "I'm gonna go try this on." Allison held up the silver knee-lengthed dress before bypassing her for the fitting rooms.

Riley watched her disappear inside, allowing an exasperated sigh to heave from her lungs before making her way toward Lydia. Her arm was full of a dozen different dresses, needing options before she could settle on the one that she thought would flatter her the most. The red haired teen seemed to be deep in thought as her emerald eyes darted back and forth between a lacey red and innocent white strapless dress. "Which do you like more?" The queen of fashion inquired once Riley had perched herself at her side. "The red one is a little too va va voomfor a high school dance, don't you think?"

Riley studied the two pieces for a quick second before agreeing. The red one was more form fitting, more low cut and overtly sexualized for a sixteen year old. "I like the white one." Riley chimed in, feeling the silky pattern beneath her fingertips. "Pair it with a black waist belt and some pumps . . . " Riley trailed off as she held her thumb up in encouragement.

Lydia's head cocked to the side, trying to envision the dynamic of the accessories Riley suggested before suddenly thrusting the red dress back into the rack. "You've got great taste in fashion," she remarked with an honest tone. Lydia finally turned to look at Riley, her eyes traveling up the length of her frame before squinting her eyes in distain. "I don't know why you never use it." She turned then, heading to a different rack to sift through more dresses.

Riley felt self-conscious of what she wore all of a sudden as she peered down at her combat boots and lightly distressed dark washed jeans. Did Lydia Martin just compliment her while also dissing her? Was that the only way Lydia could give out compliments? Riley wrapped her cardigan closer to her chest, hiding the band t--shirt she knew Lydia must have been referring to before following after her. Of course Lydia was prettier than her. With her flawless makeup and fluttering lashes it was hard not to compare. Riley's makeup was minimal at best, her morning routine shortened depending on how many times she hit the snooze button. And as she stood alongside her friend, comparing her rundown boots to Lydia's squeaky clean tanned booties, her friend continued to speak. "You're not buying a dress." She stated it as more of an observation than a question. When Riley did not respond, Lydia could only assume it meant she did not plan on going to the formal. "Well then," she blew a heavy breath of air from her nose, "What could possibly be so important that you're missing the winter formal?"

Without hesitation she replied, "My dignity."

Rolling her eyes, Lydia shifted the weight of the half a dozen dresses to her other arm. "That sounds like something Jackson would say." Once the words left her mouth, she sealed her lips shut and clenched her jaw. The weight of saying his name out loud seemed to immobilize her. "You only get to live your high school years once," she tried to initiate a change of topic, "why do it with a grudge?"

And Riley noticed. "How is he, by the way?" Ignoring her feeble attempt at shifting the conversation. Her tone became softer, her eyes more sympathetic than she ever cared to allow. She hadn't seen Jackson for a few days now and became increasingly worried ever since he'd seeked out Derek at the Hale house. That was just last night, when Kate Argent ambushed whatever it was that Derek was planning on doing to him.

"How would I know?" Lydia snapped back, her voice sharp and eyes narrowed. "We broke up."

That was news to her. Lydia hadn't seemed heart broken about it, but then again perhaps she'd learned to mask her emotions to keep up the facade of Beacon Hills High's reletively most popular Sophomore. "Was he--was he at school today?" Riley wondered, still probbing for answers in hopes that they'd align with her questions. Lydia simply nodded. "Did he look okay--I mean was he acting like himself?"

"What?" Lydia's perfectly arched brow raised. "Like an arrogant and egotistical asshole?" The anger seemed to flood from her mouth in waves of truth. Of course she remained burned by the fire of their petty high school romance. Riley could visibly see the hatred eminate from her body as if hating Jackson Whittemore was all her bones were formed from. This time, it was Riley who nodded, slightly taken aback by Lydia's outburst. "Then that answers your question."

Riley bit her tongue, not having wanted to upset Lydia in any way. And as a heavy tension clouded over them, Riley fidgeted for a different topic. "If you're not going to the formal with Jackson," she hinted timidly, "who are you going with?"

Lydia stopped before a full length mirror, running the pad of her finger over the corner of her lips as she fixed her lipstick. "I haven’t decided yet." She concluded indifferently. It came as no surprise that Lydia Martin had many suiters vying for her attention now that Jackson was out of the picture.

And the longer Riley stared at her, the more she came to understand Stiles infatuation with her. Because maybe it was something more than just her stunning beauty, but an intelligence that didn't need to be forced. It hit her all at once then, feeling a devilish smile creep over her lips as she wrung her hands together innocently. "Well . . . " She prolonged the word in a sweetened manner, and Lydia's head turned to stare at her with interest. "Since you're so concerned about me enjoying my high school years, how about I make you a deal?" Riley felt her cheeks rise with assurance. "I'll go to that stupid dance tonight." It was Lydia who seemed to grin now. "But," her grin slipping into a hollow faced frown, "I get to set you up with one of Beacon Hills High's most eligible bachelor."

It was her way of killing two birds with one stone. It would blow Stiles' mind, while simultaneously getting him off her back. "Nuh--huh." Lydia wiggled a manicured finger at her. "No way. I don't do blind dates."

"It's not technically a blind date," She insinuated, "if you already know him."

That threw Lydia off guard, raking her brain from someone memorable enough to enjoy her company. Her mind came up blank, her idea of eligable bachelor not aligning with Riley's. "Does he have a grade point average of at least four--point--five?"

Riley scoffed, "Nobody has a grade point average that high."

"I have a four--point-- nine." She retorted casually, as if her being a closeted genius wasn't all that shocking. Riley's eyes widened, never pegging Lydia as the book smart kind. Perhaps she was wrong about a lot of things.

Her features softened, her eyes pleading. "Don't you trust me?"

And with a reluctant nod of her head, Lydia finally budged. "You, I trust." She assured, her eyes suddenly adverting to the right as she stared into the distance. "Creepy, middle aged man shopping in the girls department, not so much."

Riley turned to follow her gaze, seeing the man she spoke of just one department over. His light brown hair was wavy and slicked back, his trench coat fitted and curved along his broad shoulders as he appeared to be looking at a few signature dresses. And then her stomach dropped once her eyes skimmed his face, trying to envision how it used to look when it was scarred by the burns that engulfed his home. Peter Hale was trailing them, his eyes an icy shade of blue as he peered in their direction. "Lydia . . ." She gulped down the lodge in her throat, her palms shaking as she put a hand on her friends shoulder and urged her to turn the other way. "Why don't you go try those on?" She managed to nod her head in the direction of the changing rooms, having a hell of a time composing her features as a deep sense of fear began to radiate throughout her limbs. "I'll be there in a minute," she promised as she watched Lydia carry her mound of dresses towards the back of the store.

And with a slow and precise turn on her heel, Riley swiveled to face the Alpha lurking. His attention wasn't focused on anything on the rack, but on her. Standing tall and confidently across from her as if he'd expected this reaction. And despite the feeling of absolute terror circulating inside her bones, her legs broke forward into long strides in his direction. He did not buckle from his stance, his features appeasingly devilish in comparison to the shoppers idling near by. He'd healed nicely the past few days, the half side of his face smooth and unnervingly handsome. He would have been a good looking man if not for the pschotic episodes that drove him to murder. And for a split second as she ghosted forward, she wondered what the rest of the Hale family must have looked like. If both Peter and Derek had been blessed with charming features, she figured the rest of them must have been relatively beautiful in some way as well.

Coming to a halt just a mere foot from him, she kept her voice in a low whisper as to not draw the attention of passerby's. "What the hell do you want?" It came out like a hiss, her hands balling into fists at her side as she felt compelled to glare into his tortured baby--blue eyes.

Peter's chin dimpled as his thin lips pulled at the corners gently. "I see we're passed formalities." His voice was just as she remembered it to be. Smooth like honey, with just an inkling of a threatening undertone. "You know," he proposed, "I was hoping you and I could start fresh." He raised his hand for her to shake, his palm stiffened and waiting for her to grasp. "Hi," he spoke soothingly, "I'm Peter Hale."

She glared at his calloused knuckles, making no move to return the pleasantry. "You and Derek may have come to an agreement," she spat bitterly at him, "but I'm not as forgiving." She wanted to sound brave in his presence. To assert her loyalty to the people she considered the good guys. Peter was not a good person. He lacked basic human decency and total empathy for anything with a pulse. He was a monster in it's most basic form.

"Who said anything about forgiveness?" He tilted his head just slightly to bring awareness to his casual display of assumption. "I'm simply referring to moving on from the past and joining me in building a better future." His hand dropped back to his side, his frame towering nearly a foot over her.

Taken aback by his demand, she allowed her face to scrunch up in an unappreciative surprise. "You want me to forget that you beat the living hell out of Derek?" She ground her teeth together. "Or that you murdered your own niece for power? Or the dozens of other people you killed along the way?"

Appalled by the fact that he assumed she would side with him, she listed all the reasons as to why she never would. People like him did not deserve second chances, nor did they deserve loyalty. Peter lifted his hand between them, allowing his control to slip for a fraction of a second as the beds of his nails elongated into tapered claws. Riley felt her skin thicken against her bones, her throat swelling as heavy breath after the other expelled from her nostrils. "I was merely seeking justice." He informed her, casually rubbing the pads of his index finger and thumb together as if to intimidate her.

Focusing her eyes on his claws and how they extended far beyond the tip of his fingers, she swallowed the lodge within her throat. "And what about Derek?" She snarled hastily. "Shouldn't you be out trying to find him instead of stalking a bunch of teenage girls?" Peter chuckled darkly at her accusation, keeping his fist of claws spread for her to see.

"I already know who has him." Peter murmured instantly. Scott had theorized that Kate Argent had been the one to orchestrate the fire, as well as the one who shot a dozen rounds of bullets into the front door of the Hale house. "I can't get Derek back without some form of leverage." His voice lowered into a dark whisper, his sharpened claw raising as it pointed over Riley's shoulder. She glanced back, seeing Allison Argent exit the dressing room with the dress she'd chosen over her arm.

Peter internally admitted that she was far too pretty to be used as bait to lure Kate out of hiding, but sacrifices had to be made. But if it came down to it, he felt as if there would be no part of him that would feel guilty over taking her life. Kate Argent burned eight of his family members to the ground, what was one to her? And as Peter made his plan for revenge clear, Riley's breathing hitched and her hands began to shake. And as numb as her legs felt, she made a break for it to run back toward Allison's side. But it was Peter's hand that clutched around her forearm, his claws perforating the top layer of her skin as a stinging sensation flooded her veins. Her teeth gritted against one another, a heat gathering in her eyes as Peter latched onto her. "I'll scream." She huffed hastily, narrowing her eyes at his fingers locked around her arm and the nails that embedded themselves into it.

But despite her attempt to thwart his hold on her, he did not loosen his grip. "Then I'll be forced to kill every patron within the store." He concluded. All the earlier kindness he'd tried to expel now gone. "Starting with you." He could see her pupils dilate as the realization finally settled within. Her scent was strong, littered with anger and fear as it fueled her false bravery. But as her eyes welled up, her lips curling to contain the pain she felt from his touch, and the quivering of her shoulders, he could hear her heart thudding away wildly within her chest. "And to answer your earlier question," he continued, leaning forward as he fell eye to eye with her, "I don't want you to forget about what I did." He looked at her expectantly, enunciating his words carefully to keep her focused. "Not to Derek or to Laura . . . Not to any of them." He used his intimidating presence to tactfully make her aware. "In fact," he mentioned, "I want you to remember it. Memorize it. I want you to play it over and over again inside that seemingly innocent mind of yours, until you finally recognize what I'm capable of." His grip tightened the slightest bit, his nails inching deeper into her skin as it began to bleed.

And as he glared into her brilliant and brightly hazed hazel eyes, he made it abundantly clear that she was not safe. "I will kill whoever and whatever gets in my way." He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his palm, releasing his hold on her before shoving his crimson stained fingertips into the pockets of his leather trench coat.

A relieved gasp flooded from her lips, cradling her arm to her chest. She kept her head down, hiding the pain that welled within them as she glared at his from below her lashes. "Is that a threat?" She managed to demand, though her voice cracked just the slightest.

Peter grinned, his pearly white teeth glimmering menacingly as he turned away slowly and stalked off. "Consider it a promise."


	8. A Night to Forget

Running her hands along the tops of her bare arms, Riley allowed her eyes to wander the parking lot. She leaned against the bumper of the Jeep, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. There was a heaviness in the air, one she thought might be a sign of impending doom. And all she could think about as her fellow classmates by--passed her, heading toward the formal inside the gym, was that they were not safe. No one was. Stiles could feel that too, his fidgeting hands tightening his black tie as he kept a worrisome eye on the girl beside him. He'd been on edge since they'd arrived, still unable to process wether or not this was considered a date. He drove her here, but did that really mean anything? He wanted it to. He wished for one second a coherent enough word could form on his lips and he could ask her to join him inside. But they idled in the parking lot, waiting for something that Riley had labeled as a surprise.

He side eyed her, his whiskey colored orbs fixated on the strappy and heeled black shoes upon her feet. Raising his gaze until it reached the hemline hanging mid thigh, the chiffon flowing from a gentle winter breeze. The laced bodice was fitted and scalloped at the low neckline, shuffling his gaze away once he realized he'd been staring in that general direction for far too long. Maroon was definitely her color, Stiles concluded thoughtfully to himself.

A rushing feeling then began to simmer within Riley's bones, feeling a pulse of anxiety throb within the back of her head the longer she stood here waiting. She smoothed out the messy bun at the nape of her neck with restless hands, still feverishly narrowing her eyes at every passing face. These kids had no idea how potentially dangerous this dance could be, especially with someone as vindictive as Peter Hale. He was hell bent on hurting anyone who stood in his way. Innocence wasn't a part of his vocabulary, he did not care to hinder his plan for vengeance. All he wanted was Allison Argent as his leverage. And that's who Riley's eyes wildly searched for in the crowds, hoping to see her breeze by just in time to keep the pretty brunette in her line of sight.

No one was going to get hurt, she vowed silently.

A pair of headlights blurred her vision then, squinting her eyes as a blue Mazda pulled up beside the Jeep. It was who they'd been waiting on, fashionably late, as if their own life depended on it. Lydia Martin's heels clicked against the pavement once she'd gathered herself from her car, her beautiful and silky red hair curled into delicate ringlets along her spine. Her ivory skin was flushed and made up, the dress she'd boughten earlier that day hemmed just a tad higher than how she'd purchased it.

"Lydia," Riley greeted with a smile, "I'd like to introduce you to your date." With a waive of her hand, she directed her attention to the boy behind her.

Stiles rocked back and forth uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. His buzzed head hung low as if he were not worthy enough to make eye contact with the girl of his dreams. Lydia's genuine curve of her lips seemed to fall at the sight, not having assumed that Riley would have set her up with Stiles Stilinski. But at the mention of the word 'date', Stiles' head snapped up, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. His expression was flustered, unsure of what to say as they faced each other with awkward and unsure expressions. What would people think if they saw Lydia Martin hanging on the arm of one of the most irrelevant students of Beacon High? What would people say about her reputable spot on the social ladder? Going from Jackson Whittemore, Co--captain of the lacrosse team, spoiled and structured boy to this . . . kid.

A hefty breath eased passed her plump and glossy lips, her lungs expanding as far as they would go before she forced a smile, weaving her arm through his as the three of them made their way towards the court yard of the school. Riley could feel the rhythmic pulse of music emanate from the school's gym up ahead. It was upbeat and fast paced. It certainly didn't fit the mood she was currently feeling. Seeing the ballooned archway of the entrance to the gym up ahead, she subconsciously cleared the lodge within her throat. High School dances were not her thing. She would have been twice as happy sitting at home in her pajamas, watching Netflix. She hadn't come tonight for her own enjoyment . . . She came to keep her friends safe. Something told her that perhaps this dance would be the beginning to a long and stressful night.

The gymnasium was warmer than the frigid temperature outside, feeling a breath of relief as Stiles and Lydia trudged past her and towards a table in the back. Riley's eyes glittered from the twinkling lights strung along the ceiling, feeling a heaviness gather in her chest as she skimmed her gaze over the teens swaying in time to the music.

Still keeping an eye out for Allison, wondering if she'd even arrived yet, Riley paced along the outskirts of the gym slowly. A casual way of keeping tabs on the safety of her fellow students without looking stalker--ish. Pausing at the refreshment bar after by--passing it for the third time, she faced the crowd with a hopeful expression. Maybe her anxious thoughts had only assumed the worse. Maybe nothing bad would happen tonight after-all. People seemed happy and content as they danced their time away . . . But something still seemed off.

It was then that she noticed Jackson approaching her, his jaw hardened and his eyes hooded. He jutted his shoulder into hers on purpose, stumbling only slightly to catch her balance as he ladled a serving of punch into his cup. His stiffened hands dug inside the pockets of his suit jacket, retrieving a silver flask before pouring the clear liquid into his fruit juice.

Riley glared at him once he turned back to stand at her side, about to offer her a swig until her nasty expression made him recoil his thinking. "Couldn't get a date, huh?" He asked instead. His cocky expression assured her he found pleasure in bantering with her. Her eyes rolled, keeping her gaze locked onto the crowd of students ahead. He brought his drink up to his lips, swallowing a gulp with tight features. "I'd say I'm surprised, but--"

"I've got more important things to worry about." She rebutted sharply, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Ya know? Like making sure no one else dies." She finally looked at him, jaw squared and all. "Including our friends."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Jackson shook his head. "Your friends are not my friends." He corrected insistently. "I'd willingly eat a bullet before ever considering Scott or Stiles friends." He smirked, finding it humorous that she'd even assume that he cared about anything having to do with either one of them.

Shaking her head slightly to erase her disbelief about his ignorance, she asked "What about Allison?" She quirked a brow. "Or Lydia?" It was a known fact now that Jackson had a thing for the Argent, and he could not deny his recent relationship with Lydia that had lasted since Freshman Year.

"Lydia?" Jackson scoffed, taking another sip from his elixir. He nodded his head across the gym, silently pointing out the red head who sat uncomfortably across the table from Stiles Stilinski. "Look's like she moved on pretty quick," he shrugged, "Gotta admit, he's quite a downgrade."

He snorted, finding an inopportune time to crack jokes. Looking to him offensively, her head shook as she tried to grasp a better way of making him aware. "You don't understand, do you?" She finally budged. "People might get hurt, Jackson." Her tone was hard, her intentions stern. "People might die." And as Jackson studied her for a moment, he could clearly see the worried expression now embedded into her face. "How could you want that for yourself?"

It wasn't even a question, but an accusation based upon his willingness to become like Scott. How could he wish to live in fear all the time? To walk on egg shells for the rest of his life, knowing there were hunters out there like Kate Argent. And before the sentence had even left her mouth, Jackson was already shaking his head at her. A smirk stretched over his lips, bringing his cocktail to his lips once more.

Something just short of rage seemed to boil within Riley's lungs as he chuckled lightly to himself. It was as if he were blind to the future he was paving for himself. All he saw was the good that Lycanthropy would bring him. The strength and endurance. The speed and the heightened senses. Becoming so engulfed in what it would be like to live a life like that, that he didn't care enough to see the bad that came along with it.

Like the loss of control on the full moon. The stress of always having to stay one step ahead of the hunters. Or most importantly, the target that would inevitably stretch across his back.

Anger flooded her, seeing him so careless that it made her hands quiver. Wanting to shake the sense back into him, she knocked his drink from his hand in one swift and rage fueled motion. It splattered to the ground at their feet, a look of both surprise and annoyance igniting within his eyes. "You really think the bite is a gift?" She snarled, stepping closer as her voice dropped into a harsh whisper. Students were staring now as their confrontation escalated. Pointing a rigid finger at him, pressing hard against his chest to make her point clear.

"I know it is!" Jackson strained his voice, the veins within his neck protruding beneath his heated flesh. His hand gripped around her wrist intensely, his bright blue eyes widening as if glaring at her would make her evaporate. Maybe a part of him knew that she was right, but there was a bigger part of him that acknowledged the fact that something as simple as a bite could be life changing. Jackson Whittemore had always strived for excellence. A competitive person by nature, he knew that being something supernatural would have it's advantages.

Feeling his rough palm encircle her wrist, she yanked her hand back and out of his grip. Jackson's head was too thick to comprehend the dangerous line he was about to cross. Riley's features tightened in anger, wanting to knock some sense into his stubborn mindset until Scott McCall intervened. He'd heard the commotion from across the gym, hearing their argument escalate, he wrapped his arm around Riley's waist, shifting her away from Jackson's line of sight.

He could hear her rapid pulse beneath her chest, her lungs constricting entirely too hard as if forming a breath of air was too much for her. "Breathe." He encouraged her, guiding her toward the bleachers as her rigid hands gripped at the sleeves of his thrifted suit jacket. Leading her to the third row, away from the groups of other teens situated nearby, he sat beside her until she regained control of herself.

Scott's comforting hand eased soothing circles into her back, feeling the floor beneath him shift as her leg bounced mechanically in time with her anxiety. "He's going to get himself killed." Riley finally murmured, shaking her head as she watched Jackson regroup with Danny and their friends from across the gym. If he continued down this path, it was inevitably clear that he would not survive long as a Werewolf.

He was too careless.

Scott didn't say anything, but the look on his face assured her that he couldn't disagree. "It's not your job to keep him safe." He concluded in a small voice. "To keep any of them safe." He alluded to their friends now, his own eyes scanning the dance floor as he watched Allison and Lydia dancing together to a fast paced song. His date for the night seemed happy and oblivious to the fact that her life became increasingly endangered the longer the night progressed. Scott had a feeling Peter Hale would seek her out sooner or later.

Riley shook her head slowly, her eyes locked on her hands as she mindlessly twirled the pearl ring on her index finger. A gift from her mother on her eighteenth birthday. "Someone has to." She proclaimed with an exhausted sigh. Her eyes were saddened, as if she knew that perhaps she wasn't the right choice when it came to relying on someone. "If not us, than who?" Knitting her brows together helped eased the tension throbbing behind her eyes. "Maybe if we knew what we were really up against . . ." she trailed off timidly, "Maybe our friends wouldn't be at risk and maybe--maybe Derek would still be . . ."

The tone within her voice changed, and it was hard for Scott not to notice. And all at once, it was like a flood of emotion began to weigh itself heavily on her shoulders. A sense of guilt was prominent, taking note of how her chemosignals began to elevate entirely. "You're worried about him." He gathered easily, his voice softened and sympathetic.

"I'm worried about everyone." She justified quickly.

But Scott wasn't stupid, he knew a lie like the back of his hand. "We'll find him." He sounded so sure, but Riley could guess that even he knew he wasn't so confident. "If we do it before Peter get's to Allison, then he wont need her as leverage over Kate." Scott mentioned thoroughly, as if the plan was easier than it seemed. "Maybe if we go back to the Hale house," he suggested with a firm nod, "search for any kind of clue that could help us find out where she took him . . ." His voice slipped off into a stuttering breath.

He wrung his hands together nervously, his shaggy and wavy hair hanging over his eyes as he sat in confident silence. "Tomorrow." He finally promised. "We'll start looking for him again tomorrow, but tonight," he looked at her directly, her hazel eyes defeated and dim, "tonight we deserve to be kids." He reached his hand out to her, grasping her palm as it idled in her lap. "Don't worry about Allison," Scott assured her carefully, "that's my job."

Being her boyfriend entailed keeping her safe. It was his duty and he was fully committed.

Feeling the warmth radiate from Scott's hand to hers, she felt the heaviness finally shift from off her shoulders. "And what about me?" She questioned, wondering what her job would be once Scott took the lead on keeping an eye on Allison.

"It's a dance," Scott let out a quick chuckle of air, "I think you deserve to have a little fun."

He stood then, pulling his hand from hers in a gentle manner. The warmth that radiated from Scott McCall left her fingertips, her body feeling the glow that manifested evade her as he briskly headed out into the crowd of students, finding Allison in order to steal a dance. The music had slowed now, seeing the crowd of kids lacing their arms around one another, stepping in awkward time to the soft beat echoing calmly.

The heat within her eyes seemed to fade, standing on her own as she slowly began to pace around the outskirts of the center of the gym. Scott had told her to enjoy tonight, but that felt harder to do than keeping her friends safe. Like it was almost expected from her, but at what cost? Her mind would not ease for a fraction of a second, let alone long enough to allow herself to mold to the normality that came with attending a High School formal.

She didn't think she deserved to have fun, especially when people were still targeted and missing.

But she trusted Scott to keep her safe . . . She'd trust Scott McCall with anything.

And he'd said that tomorrow he would go back to the Hale house, the last place Derek had been seen before being ambushed. Scott said he'd look for clues and try to find any indication of what remained of the Beta's life. And as Riley paced the floor, she began to overthink again, something she was entirely too good at these days. What if tomorrow was too late?

Riley could see her friends situated at a table up ahead, approaching cautiously, able to identify the tension hovering over them both as somewhat awkward. Stiles rested his head on his fist, his free hand drumming nervously against the table. Lydia Martin sat upright within her chair, her eyes transfixed on the floral centerpiece of their table. She could tell that they hadn't spoken as much as a word to each other in the past half hour.

Stiles was too anxiety--ridden to open his mouth.

And Lydia was too afraid of what people would think of her being seen with him.

Perhaps Scott was right, it wasn't her job to save her friends . . . But that didn't mean she couldn't be the mediator between these two stubborn kids. She stood between them as they both eyed her timidly. "Hey Lydia," Riley smiled genuinely, "do you wanna dance?" She extended her hand out for the red head to take, watching as she shrugged indifferently and grabbed her hand anyway. "Good." Riley murmured, grabbing Stiles' wrist with her other hand. She yanked it away from beneath his jaw and forcefully placed his hand in Lydia's. "So does he."

Stiles stiffened once his fingers grazed the curve of Lydia's palm, stumbling quickly to raise himself to his feet as Riley guided Lydia to stand up in return. Rubbing an encouraged hand into Lydia's back, she felt a sudden feeling of accomplishment as the two of them begrudgingly headed for the center of the gym.

Knowing that Lydia put up a front for her own sake, acting as if being here with Stiles was an inconvenience. But Riley had the notion that perhaps there was some small part within Lydia's cold heart that felt an inkling of appreciation for the awkward boy. And for the first time that night, she felt her cheeks raise into a grin that was not forced. She felt like a proud mother watching her child score the winning goal. But in the end, it was really just about seeing someone happy for once . . . even if for just a second.

And as Stiles and Lydia swayed to the slow song emanating from the speakers, Riley's hand reached out the snatch the keys to the Jeep that still remained tossed upon the table. She could not take Scott's advice and have fun when she knew that Derek Hale was still missing and presumably dead. Tightening her fist around the ring of keys, she slipped away from the gym and into the parking lot, an unsettling urge to find him kept her preoccupied.

It was a feeling she couldn't shake, as if she somehow knew that tomorrow would be too late.

Sitting in the drivers seat of the Jeep felt foreign, a concept she was still trying to wrap her head around even after she revved it's engine. It purred to life beneath her feet, sputtering as if it were about to give out at any moment. That was the problem with older cars, it became harder and harder to upkeep them as the years went by.

And without even thinking about it for longer than a second, she squealed out of the parking lot and onto the main road. It was well past dusk now, nearing nine o'clock as the streetlights above seemed to illuminate her path. Riley did not think twice about the danger that flawed her plan, knowing that perhaps it was expected now. But she could not shake off the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Her hand snaked its way into her clutch, retrieving her phone as she skimmed through her contacts hastily. Keeping a firm eye on the weaving road ahead, she pressed dial with a dignified mindset. It rang a few times, her body radiating with anxiety until it reached a voicemail. "Yo, you've reached Stiles! Leave me a message after the beep--beep--beeeeeeeeeeep."

He sounded so innocent, knowing his prerecorded voice must have been from nearly a year ago. "Hey, Stiles. It's me." She figured he'd catch on sooner or later. "You probably won't get this till later, since you're probably, you know, dancing with the girl of your dreams . . . At least, I hope you are. Uh--Hey, listen, I don't want you to think your Jeep was stolen or anything." She spilled hastily. "I mean, technically it was, but I'm just borrowing it, I guess?" She veered off track, rambling now as she navigated the car through the dark streets. "I'm going to do a little investigating at the Hale house," she confessed. "If we find out where Kate is hiding Derek, then that means Peter won't need Allison as leverage. Scott's keeping an eye on her, just in case." Riley's voice seemed certain. "But I'll need you to keep an eye on him. I have this . . . feeling.” She murmured into the receiver. "Something bad is going to happen."

She stuttered for a second more, trying to conclude her voice mail with any more information she could offer. Nothing else would spill from her lips, ending the call suddenly then before tossing her phone back on the passenger side seat. She raised her fingers to her lips, the edge of her glossy black nails slipping between her teeth, biting down to ward off her anxiety.

Finding the Hale house seemed almost impossible in the dark. It was easier on foot, being able to by--pass the trails to reach her destination faster. But the Jeep could only travel on the debris littered roads, having to slow her pace to be able to distinctly tell which turn she'd need to take. The only light that guided her way was that of the headlights, beaming ahead into the dark distance as she navigated her way through the dense forestation.

Everything looked the same when it was cascaded in darkness. The trees all seemed to blend together, making it harder to ensure the direction she headed in was correct. Her hands were clenched firmly around the steering wheel, feeling a wave of relief wash over her once the headlights ignited the clearing she was familiar with up ahead. It opened up into an even terrain, the house still hauntingly planted in its center.

It felt eerier at night time, feeling her stomach twist into tight knots as she parked the Jeep at the tree-line. And once she switched it's engine off, and the clearing erupted into total and complete darkness, was when her bones began to ache. The moon above was shrouded behind overpassing clouds, disrupting it's ray of light. The silouhette of the house was prominent amongst the barely lit skyline, but it's core somehow still felt hallow.

Her balance was unsteady as she shuffled her heeled feet against the forest floor. The slam of the car door caused a crow that idled in the tree's above to scatter away feverishly, it's croak of surprise echoing through the night sky. It was bitter and cold as Riley began her slow and overtly on edge ascend up to the porch steps of the home. There was no wind this time to make the shudders rumble in protest, but the porch creaked beneath her weight as she took her first fateful step into the unknown.

What would she find inside?

Her eyes adjusted to the shadows, seeing the tattered rusted front door now. Bullet holes were scattered among its frame, the windows broken in from the velocity of the close range gunfire. Riley's hand clung to the rickety railing, hoisting herself up and over the unsteady porch steps until she reached the door. Her throat tightened as she faced it, her palms sweating now as she rethought this plan entirely.

Would Kate Argent really have left any evidence behind? And if so, would it be compelling enough to be able to piece together where she'd taken Derek? She wanted to believe so, but the only way to find out was to not be afraid. Her breath rattled her from the inside out, so incredibly shattered that she was sure her lungs would collapse. With a nimble and cautious hand, she reached for it's rounded handle, feeling the cool metal within her palm, and turned it to the right until the door creaked open.

The inside was still worn out and carried a sinking feeling within it's walls. She stepped inside with quivering limbs, hearing the thin stiletto of her heels tap against the hardwood floor. The holes among the ceiling that the fire had created allowed the fragmented light from the moon above to beam into it's living room. It helped guide her way, feeling her pulse heighten in order to keep her eyes from skimming the shadows where the light did not reach.

And other than the bullet holes that pierced through the walls and embedded themselves into the worn down furniture, everything seemed to be exactly how she remembered it. The banister to the staircase was still dusted over and chipped away. The wall paper peeled at the corners, where as some spots had been complete torn away from the walls. The rug that was once splayed over the hard wood floors was bundle up and tossed into one of the many corners this house had to offer.

A sliver of something gold glimmered beneath the obstructed light that filtered in from the caved in ceiling, narrowing her eyes at it in slight wonder. Out of curiosity, her feet broke into small steps forward, seeing it wedged loosely between an end table and the wall that divided the living room and the entry room. Riley kneeled at it's side, her expression wary as she reached out to pluck the object from it's spot on the floor.

It was smooth and rounded at it's point, both sleek and engraved with an emblem of a hunter.

A gold encased bullet from one of Kate's rounds. Out of instinct, she brought it up to her nose, taking in a deep breath as the acrid scent of gunpowder filled her lungs. It must have still been fresh, she theorized internally. She fisted the object then, holding onto it tightly as a sudden creek of the floor boards seemed to unsettle her. Her head snapped up, her eyes wild and unsure of where the sound had come from.

But from her bent position on the floor, with a clear view of the living room up ahead, she could see the burly figure of a man idling in it's doorway. With a sharp intake of air, Riley rose to her feet in a stiff and limb locking movement. It was like she forgot to walk somehow, her mind gripping for an excuse to backtrack the direction she'd come, but her feet would not obey.

It was like the last time she was here, when Derek had sauntered from the shadows with no intention of frightening her. But this shadow that loomed over her, it was not the same. His build was much too thick to compare to Derek’s lean and muscular frame. He was shorter, more stocky and thick to be anyone she knew. And then he lurched forward, coming toward her as if he were hell bent on defusing her escape.

Riley stumbled backward, taking two steps back for every four he managed to take toward her.

Her lungs expanded as if to scream, but her throat swelled shut. Her mouth would not open.

And the faster he approached her, the more her limbs seemed to freeze in place. His stubby hands sprung forward to grasp her, her instinct to duck out of the way keeping him from grabbing a hold of her shoulder. She yielded to the left, sinking just below his grasp as her feet stumbled to direct her back around. A huff escaped his gritted teeth when she'd dodged his advance on her, turning quickly to see her attempt to run.

But her feet were not fast enough, feeling his arms encircle her waist as he held her firmly against his chest. Her back was him, feeling the scream that had bubbled up finally pierce through her lips and echo off the floorboards. Her nails raked his arms that bound her, her legs lifting from the ground as she kicked them out in order to regain control of her body.

His meaty and calloused hand covered her mouth, attempting to silence her. Riley panicked, feeling his fingers enclose around her lips in order to keep them sealed, she let her teeth gnaw against his flesh. It was him who yelped in surprise, cursing under his breath as he dropped her so suddenly. Her feet did not catch her, stumbling forward to her knees as her own arms shot out to catch herself.

Riley panted in a wild and sputtering manner, looking over her shoulder in distress as the man righted himself, his hand curling into a fist at his side before lurching his arm forward and allowing his blunt knuckles to connect with the side of her head. And it was like a darkness took ahold of her body, feeling a weightlessness consume her as her vision went black. Her body fell limp, sinking to the floorboards in a disoriented heap.

Her breathing had calmed, her pout lips parting as a fuzzy feeling wormed its way down her spine. It was like being held captive within her own body, wishing to move, but her bones couldn't keep up. Her temple throbbed, a dull ache in comparison to the heat the gutted her insides. She did not like how it made her feel. It made her feel so helpless.

She could feel her arm being twisted, her shoulder contorted into an uncomfortable position as the man gripped her wrist and dragged her away. Wanting to open her eyes, she found that she could not will them to respond. It was like every muscle had been turned off, unresponsive to the signals within her head. It was like they did not exist anymore.

Dragging her into the shadows, her exposed flesh was cut open in shallow slits from uprooted nails among the floorboards. Riley could feel the soft sting of them along the back of her thighs and her spine, focusing on the pain in hopes of using it as a crutch to regain her composure. And then she felt herself being lifted, her body floating in the unsafe arms of someone with the intention of hurting her.

Riley's head was lolled back, unable to curve her neck back up to see his face.

Squaring her jaw, focusing all of her energy into the knit of her brows, she could feel her eyelids finally begin to respond. They cracked open for a split second, fogged and unclear as she made out the details of the ceiling up above. It was unfamiliar, not the same as the Hale house, but more sturdier and efficient. Like the solid foundation of a basement and honestly just as cold.

Hearing a door open and shut, the creaking of it's wood rang within her ears. Her body was set down against a wall, her back arching against a brick outline, but still, she could not will her limp body to respond. Her arms were pulled from her sides, balancing above her head as someone tied her wrists together, feeling the chilled metal of the pipe that ran along the wall at her side, bounding her to it as if they intended to keep her here for a while.

"Damn," A feminine voice cooed, both unrecognizable and tender, "you really worked her over, didn't you?"

The voice was taunting and close, her eyelids fluttered just enough now to see the orange glow of the room and the frame it illuminated. Her sight was not clear, pixelated by the blow she'd taken, but she was beginning to retrieve her senses again. "The little bitch bit me." The man responded, his voice gruff and unforgiving.

The feminine voice returned and Riley tried hard to focus on it. On straining the muscles around her eyes to force them open again. To match the face that belonged to the soft and gritty voice. "I wouldn't worry about it," the woman analyzed the bite mark on the middle and index finger of the mans hand. It was deep and bloodied, but not poisonous. "She doesn't strike me to be of the Werewolf kind."

"Then what is she?" The man pressed warily.

Riley's lids split once more, straining her vision in order to focus her eyes. A woman was crouched before her, her eyes were so light, they reminded her of steel. Her face was aged, but inheritantly pretty with her sandy blonde hair lightly curled along her bare shoulders. "Right now?" The woman assessed the girl chained up before her. "She's a minor inconvenience." Her lips spread over her high cheeks, undoubtedly a pretty woman as far as her eyes could tell. Riley's neck twitched, regaining feeling inch by inch as she craned her head back to get a straight view. "Do a sweep of the woods," she ordered the man off to the side. Riley's eyes shifted, seeing him stand a few feet away with a piece of linen wrapped around his hand, covering the wound. "Make sure she's alone." She demanded. "I don't want any more surprises."

"Yes, Kate." The man agreed, a firm nod of his head before heading back through the door.

The name stung her ears, wincing at the sound of it as a soft groan seeped through Riley's teeth. An overhead light was all that brightened the room, squinting her eyes as they focused in and out, making out the details of her legs as they stretched out before her. Kate had turned her back to her now, her attention redirected to the far end of the basement, just a dozen feet away from where her tired frame remained bound.

Her hands tugged at the restraints, hearing the metal cuffs clink against the pipes.

"Now that we have an audience," Kate's voice simmered, almost sultry as she addressed someone other than Riley, "we can have some real fun." Kate Argent sauntered away, her hips curved and tight for a thirty year old woman. Allison's aunt was beautiful, but her pretty looks were only used as a distraction. A discourse to the menacing vibe that tailored to her seemingly innocent face.

Kate reached for a dial connected to a machine on a nearby table, turning over her shoulder to smile devilishly at whomever idled behind her. And with a swift flick of her wrist, she switched the dial firmly to the right. A buzzing sound echoed off the cement floors, a flash of lights blinding Riley's already sensitive eyes. And once she'd gotten past the piercing rumble of the electric sounding current, a sharp and low grunt rose into a painful cry.

The flash of lights became bearable, narrowing her hazel orbs to the figure chained up along the basement wall at her side. The figure of a man, his bared torso convulsing beneath a patch of wires connected just below his ribs. With his arms bound up above him, his head thrown back in agony as an electrical riptide coursed through him. His aggravated groans died down then as Kate switched the dial back to zero, a smirk too entirely sadistic for her pretty face was laced over her lips.

Riley's eyes traveled back to the man she'd been relentlessly torturing, her observation of his familiar features ensuring her she had found their missing Beta. Derek Hale took a few unsteady breaths, still feeling the tingling burn continue to radiate through his veins even after the current had been switched off. His jaw hardened then, raising his head back up to meet the terror glazed eyes of Riley Haven. The girl who came looking for him, only to fall into the hostile trap that Kate Argent had set. It was him who looked to Riley apologetically, so incredibly fearful for the lengths Kate would go to use her as leverage over him.

Despite Riley's innocence in all of this, he wouldn't put it past the Hunter.


	9. It's a Trap

He made it a priority to keep his attention on Kate, hoping that by doing so, he would be able to identify the moment she'd begin to direct her retaliation on the girl situated to his left. Riley fidgeted uneasily among the floor, her legs aching to stretch, but her cuffed hands could not untether themselves. And despite seeing the soft purple shadow form along her temple, a bruise left behind from the man working with the devil herself, he began to feel antsy. His fingers itching for the moment he could wrap them around the guys throat. He wanted to do more than that, because any man that put their hands on a woman deserved it.

A part of him silently wondered why she'd come alone, why she'd seeked him out without a proper plan or form of defense. Did she really think that this was a safe idea? And another part of him wanted to thank her. He felt compelled, like he'd owe her his life if he made it out of this.

And Kate sat before him, leaning back within her chair with a concentrated look upon her face. She'd been at this for days now, using her own twisted form of torture in hopes of getting Derek to talk. The hunter needed answers, because not only was there an Alpha on the prowl, still unaware of who it was, she knew definitively that there was a second Beta. Scott McCall never would have crossed her mind, and Derek would not be the one to deliver the news.

Despite Scott's resistance to this new Werewolf life, Derek saw something in him. Something he recognized within himself when he was once his age. Scott had the mind and heart of a leader. He was resilient in his adverse way of silencing the beast inside of himself and decided to use his power to help others. He did not want him to fall victim to Kate, especially while he was still invested in the hunters niece.

Tearing his eyes away from Kate for just a moment, he looked to Riley instead. Her gaze was pleading, silently questioning how much power Kate really had over them. Her features softened, her head tilting in hopes of a logical response. It was Derek who gave a small shake of his head, hoping she could read the fear laced within his own eyes, that his hands were tied, both physically and metaphorically.

Unaware to Derek, Kate had noticed their small and silent, yet significant, exchange. She sat up straighter within her chair, her wide eyes rapidly shuffling from one to the other. "I get the feeling you two know each other." She exhaled excitedly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Derek," she teased, "but I think your knight in shining armor is now a damsel in distress." Her laugh was hearty, pleased by her ability to pinpoint details. "Sounds like the start to a budding romance."

Kate stood then, lurking forward as she cupped Derek's chin, squeezing slightly to form a pout upon his tangerine lips. "You know I'm a sucker for romance." Kate hummed and Riley watched with hateful eyes as she touched him so freely. The same hands that induced his pain, also seemed to caress him softly, almost the way a lover would. A low rumble burrowed itself in Derek's chest as Kate took a step back, assessing the situation with new eyes. "And here I'd thought I'd ruined you, Derek. I gotta admit," she sarcastically warranted as she thrust a thumb over her shoulder in Riley's direction, "she doesn't seem like your type. Like at all."

Watching his expression sink into something so incredibly distorted, Riley felt a heat swell behind her eyes. He did look broken . . . He looked more than broken. How else was something suppose to look when faced before the woman that murdered their family? "Shut up." He warned her, but his voice cracked just the slightest.

"Oh." Kate hummed. "A touchy subject I see?" She crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head in understanding. "It's fine," she commented, "I'll just ask her about it." She shifted her eyes in Riley's direction, swiveling her body in a swift movement as her boots clicked against the cement floor. She paused before the girl she'd chained up, raking her eyes over the formal dress she was wearing. Had she come from the formal tonight? The same dance that her niece, Allison, had been attending? She realized then with mock enthusiasm that this girl before her was still a teenager. "God, Derek," Kate huffed, "I thought you liked older women."

Riley glared up at her from beneath her full lashes. "Fuck you." She finally spit.

Raising a brow in surprise, Kate seemed to enjoy the girls pleasantries. "She speaks!" Her lean frame bent down to her level, her steel grey eyes narrowed and hard. "What's your name?" She asked, her voice softening despite the menace in her stare. Riley ground her teeth together, not daring to give a psychopath like her that kind of satisfaction. She waited a few more seconds, finding the stilled silence an interesting tactic coming from someone in Riley's position. "Well," she breathed, "sweetheart, let me tell you a little something about Derek Hale."

She looked to the Beta chained beyond the far wall, his anger fueled eyes seemed depleted and strained on the floor. Almost as if he knew what was coming. "Beneath all of that pent up angst and brooding eyes," she relayed knowingly, "is someone so profoundly kind, like, will help your grandmother cross the road kind of kind. Sure, he puts up this front, 'My names Derek'," she imitated him with a hard and turned up face, "'And I hate everyone, blah, blah, blah'." Riley felt her blood thicken, her spine tingle at just the sheer mockery behind Kate's tone. "Ever wonder what made him like that? What him so cold?”

Riley's eyes glanced back to Derek, who adverted his stare after gauging her reaction for a small moment. It was her turn to study him, seeing him recoil at her voice and how it affected him in a way Riley had never seen. Clearing her throat, and keep her eyes carefully set on the hemline of her dress as a distraction, Riley spoke, "I'm guessing it has something to do with you?" She turned her head then, finally glancing at Kate with a forceful and accusing stare.

Watching from the sidelines, unable to find his own voice, Derek could feel himself begin to choke on his words. He wanted to speak up for himself, defend what little amount of dignity he had left. But his chest seemed to deflate, his breaths coming in whisper--like heaves as he tried to find something else to focus on. What Kate was saying didn't seem to be a lie for once. And that scared him. It scared him, because somehow the truth seemed more damaging than any lie Kate could spew.

And her audience of choice was Riley. Why did it cause him so much internal conflict to see her sit on the receiving end of the news? Why did her opinion of him matter so much? Why did it make him so uncomfortable when her eyes landed on him? Was he afraid she'd judge him? Was he afraid she'd tell someone? For Derek, it didn't seem to be any of those things. It was the cruel notion of knowing that Riley could hear all of what Kate had to say and it might change her perception of him.

Because he knew a part of her saw him the way no one else had. A way no one else ever could. "I had everything to do with it." Kate corrected her in a way that signified she still remained delighted about that fact to this day. "You see," Kate insinuated, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Riley's face. She flinched, feeling her ears burn from the amount of fire that ebbed beneath her skin. "Derek has always had a thing for pretty, innocent girls. All someone has to do is play their cards right and they can twist their way around that beautiful body of his."

She grinned, eyeing Derek's frame with a look that suggested she was once familiar with it. "Now," she summarized, "I know what you're thinking. A werewolf and a hunter sounds a lot like forbidden love." Riley swallowed that truth like a razor blade, because it confirmed the idea that Kate had targeted Derek at a young and vulnerable stage in his life. "And with a love like that, someone's always bound to get burned."

Riley nodded ever so slightly, fearing that the riptide of anger bubbling up would soon become uncontainable. "Sounds like you enjoy playing with fire." Riley commented bravely, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline fuel her comeback. "Being an arsonist is right up your alley."

Her glare did not falter, nor did she stutter. It was all about provoking her now.

Kate paused for a second, taking a moment to reflect on the fact that this young girl had some fight in her. Was she brave or just stupid? Kate hadn't figured that part out yet. "Oh. _That._ " Kate recollected, standing up from her perch beside Riley, hovering over her now with glowering eyes. "Just doing the Lord's work." She insisted.

 _'Perhaps this girl wasn't dumb'_ , Kate thought. Despite covering her tracks, Riley was still entirely certain that she had something to do with the Hale fire. She turned then, feeling as if she had the last word as she looked at Derek. His head was hung low, as if to shield himself from the direction their conversation had turned.

"Whatever you tell yourself," Riley muttered from behind her, "to help you sleep at night." Still facing away from her, Kate shook her head, unable to fathom the amount of balls this girl seemed to have. "Does it help with the guilt?" Riley continued, her eyes stinging and watered down, but her face remained hard and stoic. Her voice was almost an octave lower, deep and guttural and full of accusation. "Considering you murdered eight innocent people?"

She would not allow Kate to live down that kind of guilt.

Rolling her eyes, Kate looked to Derek before jutting her thumb over her shoulder. "How do you put up with her?" She asked, heading back toward the table with the dial machine. Derek did not answer, nor did he even glance her way. He kept his eyes down, feeling his body flex on its own accord the closer she got to the dial. Her hand reached out, turning it suddenly all the way to the right as the buzzing sound returned.

Watching with flooded eyes, Derek's head snapped back as his body tremored frantically. The patch of wires taped just beneath his ribs sent electric currents throughout his body. The pain felt almost unbearable, feeling like a stripped wire of electricity had been submerged into his bloodstream. And even over his gutted cry of agony, he could hear Riley begging Kate to stop. And the hunter did, for a brief second. "I'm sorry, Sweetie, I couldn't hear you! What did you say?" Kate mockingly taunted her.

"Please--" Riley began to say again, but just as the word left her mouth, Kate cranked the dial back to the right and watched Derek's body convulse with excited eyes. Despite how painful it must have been for Derek to feel it, it almost seemed more so to watch it happen. And for a second, Riley caught herself wishing it were her instead of him. Of course, the current would have killed her, but it would have saved him the suffering. "Stop!" She bellowed again over the heightened buzzing, her own body shivering unfathomably.

"All he has to do is tell me who the second Beta is." Kate shrugged before finally dialing the knob back down to zero. Derek's body was rigidly chained to the beam behind him, his breathing labored and spewing in sharp gasps and he collected what was left of himself. Despite Kate's attempts, Derek was not going to mention Scott McCall. A huff of annoyance blew from Kate's lips at his persistent silence, "Unfortunately Derek, if you're not going to talk, then I'm just going to have to kill you." Her hand reached for the dial again with every intention of letting the current run until his heart gave out. "Say hi to your sister for me."

It was a low blow, considering Laura's death was just as recent as Riley's mothers.

"You did tell her about me, didn't you?" Kate chided with a furrowed brow, egging him on. "The truth about the fire? Anything?" She tilted her head, searching his eyes as if his green orbs could speak more freely than his mouth. But within them, all she saw was the overwhelming glimmer of regret. He hadn't told his sister. He hadn't told anyone. He didn't want anyone to know that it was him who had lead the hunter to their door. "Oh, Sweetie," Kate hummed, taking a few slow steps to stand before him, "That's a lot of guilt to keep buried. It's not your fault,” She promised him with pursed lips, “you got tricked by a pretty face." Her sympathetic features were now upturned into a smirk. "It happens!" Her voice croaked. "Handsome, young werewolf," pointing in Derek's direction, "mistakenly falls in love with a super--hot girl who comes from a family that kills wolves. Isn't that ironic?" She ticked.

Derek's chin was tucked into his bare chest, hiding the only vulnerable part about himself. It was his eyes, because they were always harder to mask. To keep the wetness buried seemed impossible at times. "Or is it just a little bit of history repeating?" Kate trailed off, her eyes wandering for a second as she tasted the bitter relay of her words. "History repeating." She mentioned again, deep in thought as the truth finally hit her. "It's not Jackson, is it?" She questioned, now doubting her earlier accusations about the teenager. "Oh, no, no, no, he's got a little scratch on the back of his neck, but he's not in love with a hunter.” Her eyes hardened, the truth abundantly clear as a short flicker of desperation clouded Derek's features. "Not like Scott."

She compared both her and Derek's past to Scott and Allison's present. How history had repeated itself through the young lovers. "I think I just found our second Beta."

Riley wanted to speak up, to mention to Kate that she was wrong. But she feared that if she did, her voice would crack. That it would be undeniable to assume that the second Beta had been her niece’s boyfriend. Kate sunk into the darkness, exiting the basement of the Hale house with a new vendetta for Scott McCall. She would seek him out with any means necessary, and from there, do with him what hunters did best.

A heavy silence hung within the air now, feeling a wave of panic begin to settle within her stomach. Her friend was in trouble. How could she protect him now? Her hands shook violently, rattling the cuffs linked around her wrists in an attempt to loosen them. The metal clanked together noisily, recklessly trying to free herself in time. And even if she had, Riley did not know what her next move would be. Would she go after Kate? What was her defense against a skilled and trained hunter? How could someone like her stop someone like Kate?

A grunt formed on her lips, tugging relentlessly on her hands as the metal dug into her flesh.

And even with as much force as she could muster up, it was not enough. Riley was not strong enough to protect herself, let alone someone else. "They're not going to loosen." Derek's voice filtered through, a lower pitch than the guttural sounds clawing from her throat. She ignored him, continuing to tug against the cuffs as if she were certain he was lying. Watching her body rake with anxiety, seeing the revelation ignite her eyes, it was all too real. He could see that she was not going to give up. "Ry." He said in a calmer and more tender voice.

Hearing that made her pause, not having heard anyone call her by that nickname since her mother passed away. It was one she hadn't expected to hear again, especially coming from Derek Hale's mouth. For a second, her hands felt heavy. Every part of her just felt so unbelievably heavy. As if she were shouldering the weight in a bodysuit of stone. "He needs our help." Was all she managed to say, her tone defeated and low.

"We need help." Derek clarified, rattling the shackles entrapped around his own wrists as if to prove it. "But," he replied with a small sense of hope, "If my plan works, someone will come for us eventually."

Riley rose an intrigued brow, bringing both of her knees to her side as she leaned forward to look at him carefully. "What plan?" She demanded, wondering if his elaborate mind could warrant such a thing.

"The other night," Derek remembered, "when Kate shot down my door, I told Scott to run." He kept his eyes low, hooded beneath the shadows casted along his face. "I took his phone. If he looks for it, the GPS will lead him here." It was the only plan he had to fall back on. The only thing that he'd been relying on now for the past few days. "I'm hoping he's smart enough to try to track it."

Riley frowned, the crease between her brows deepening with displeasure. "That's the plan?" She hissed, her voice a small and piercing echo inside his head. "We're suppose to just sit here and hope someones smart enough to check the Hale house again?" It made her angry, because putting her own safety into the hands of a plan that had many flaws did not seem logical.

"You were." Derek timidly noted. She had been smart, yet somehow both stupid and reckless enough to search the house for clues. "You came back." And he didn't know who to thank for that exactly. Because to him, that showed willingness to find the truth, despite how scary and twisted it really was.

He looked at her then, studying her with appraising eyes, because somehow this one girl had made a difference. In the six long years following the fire, Derek Hale had put little faith into anyone or anything. He did not expect to trust anyone after that, but here he was, putting every ounce of it into the person seated across from him. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt obligated to. Because she was the only one willing to piece enough of his disappearance together to find him.

And if Riley hadn't known any better either, she had a feeling that having him be open like this was a terrible vulnerability of his. It was something he feared. He was afraid of basic human decency and any form of contact because he knew letting the wrong people in could be damaging . . . That was something he learned from Kate. Despite even learning about the intentional way that the hunter had broken him, Riley did not see the shattered pieces Derek thought was viewable. She saw wholeness. She saw humbleness.

Because in the years after the fire, Derek had taken all of that grief and put it into forming his armor. It created a shell of who he'd use to be, and it terrified Derek to see the armor slowly strip away in Riley's presence. He felt comfortable, as if doing so would not leave him empty handed again. "Well," Riley snorted both sarcastically and helplessly, "here I am." She wiggled her wrist's to showcase her cuffs, reminding him that she was no hero. When she looked to him this time, his eyes were lowered to the floor at his feet, his bare torso still rising and falling with each heavy breath he breathed. "And just so you know," allowing her voice to soften into a reassuring murmur, "it doesn't matter to me . . . What Kate said," she elaborated further, "it doesn't matter."

He wanted to correct her, because in his mind it did. In his mind it was all that mattered. It was the details of both he and Kate's relationship, one that formed when he was only sixteen years old. She'd used him. She'd manipulated her way into making him believe that he was worth something to her . . . But it wasn't enough to protect his family. It wasn't enough to keep the secret of what his family was hidden, and when Kate had pieced it together, that's when she orchestrated the fire.

But hearing those words come from Riley, it managed to ease the hollowness within his chest for a moment. It felt easier to breathe then. To not be scrutinized by someone for their mistakes was all he'd ever wanted. To have someone know the dirty truth about what he'd done and still accept him and the flaw of who he was felt foreign. He was unfamiliar with the concept of forgiveness. He did not respond, and despite his silence Riley could recognize the acceptance flicker within his eyes. He didn't have to believe anything she said, but as long as she said it, she knew it would resonate with him.

It was something she could see now, beneath the toughened werewolf exterior, was a human itching to find itself again. It seemed unreal to be caught in the middle of the supernatural world. Still trying to wrap her head around the fact that mythical monsters did, in fact, exist. But he didn't look like a monster. His green eyes, despite being tempered, were often times soft when idling on her. He did not roar like a beast, nor did he howl frantically at the moon.

Riley shook her head at that thought, until it replayed over and over within her head.

Her expression must have changed, focusing on a brewing thoughts as a concentrated look crossed her features. "What is it?" Derek noticed, easily able to identify the shift of her thoughts from reading her stiffened body.

"I was just thinking," she cleared her throat and shook her head mechanically, "about a research paper I wrote my Sophomore year." Derek furrowed a brow, unsure of how that had anything to do with their current predicament. "It was about the wolf population in Yellowstone Park." She remembered tentatively. "About how they were depleting and all of the parks natural resources began to fall through because of it." She thought for a moment later, trying to remember the specifics. "There was something in there about echo location?" She recalled with an unsure squint of her eyes.

Derek nodded, "Wolves howl to signal their location to the rest of the pack."

"Does that work for Werewolves too?" She wondered expectantly.

He could see where she was going with this, his head shaking for a brief second. "If Scott's at the school," he mentioned with a defeated tone, "I doubt he'll hear it." It hadn't crossed his mind before, because wolves howled to communicate with their pack. Derek did not have one, he had been on his own now for quite some time.

Riley pursed her lip, her dainty shoulder rising into a shrug. "Maybe it won't." She agreed. "But, maybe . . . Maybe it will." Their eyes met, keeping them firm and assuring as she urged him to take a chance. "Just try." She pressed.

With her stare so incredibly insistent, Derek could not disobey. His gaze was the first to break away, treading them on the cement beneath his feet as he caved in. It was always a feeling of relief that gathered in his bones on the rare occasion he let the animal inside out. As if the beast created an abundant amount of pressure within his lungs, and breathing narrowly allowed it to claw its way up from the cavity of his chest. It was caged and confined for so long, but letting it free was just as easy as he remembered.

His body radiated in a few small spasms, his neck twitching once he allowed the shift to control him. Riley felt a wave of nervous energy hover between them, eyes widening once the bridge of his nose connected to form a short muzzled appearance between the center of Derek's features. His face shifted into something unrecognizable, though his eyes remained a tempered, yet soft, shade of green.

There was a whole hell of a lot of vulnerability that went into letting himself be seen this way. It was a monster very few had seen, yet Riley did not cower away from it like he'd thought. Still situated and cuffed just a mere few feet from him, she seemed attentive and encouraging. It was as if she believed that something like this could work.

Derek concentrated enough to keep the animal inside at bay, only allowing it to simmer just beneath his skin. His claws elongated from his nail beds, his hands enclosed into a fist as they embedded themselves into his palms. He could feel his teeth sharpen, salivating for freedom he didn't dare offer up. His shoulders rose as a deep breath collected in his lungs, holding it for a duration of time that felt prolonged and uneasy.

And when he opened his mouth, a howl tore it's way up his throat.

The muscles within his stomach clenched, burrowing the echo of his roar into the deepest crevices of his own body. It rumbled within his chest, finding a release after having been coiled up inside of him for so long. The sound ricochetted off the stone walls, a deep and guttural wave of noise pulsating within Riley's ears. She wished to cover them, to shield their sensitivity away from the baying snarl slipping from between Derek's teeth.

But it fascinated her more, her eyes fixated on the way his muscles flexed and they way his head was thrown back as if to bay at the moon. Perhaps this was the first time Riley really understood what it meant to be a Werewolf and how it affected different people. She wanted to be afraid of him in this moment, to have a reason to pinpoint an unexplainable fear that did not stem from being this close to a monster.

The creature that howled before her was a vicious thing. In the absence of forgiveness, she knew its bite would swallow her whole . . . But this monster was not Derek Hale. They were different beasts of the same man. The only similarity was that they shared the same flesh.

The echo of his call died down, fading into a breathless gasp of air as Derek tried to even his breathing. And as long as it took for Riley to blink, his features had shifted back into that of a handsome man, with a sharp jaw, narrowed nose and restless eyes. His bare chest fluctuated feverishly, trying to catch the breath he'd lost. It took him a second to regain the human side of him, but his body still remained sore and beaten down. "Do you--" he huffed heavily, "Do you think it worked?"

The hope within his voice wasn't prominent, because there already seemed to be a part of him that felt doubtful. But maybe if Riley believed in it, he could too. Her arms began to feel achingly stiff now as they idled in the cuffs above her head. She nodded numbly, almost so sure of herself but she could not bring her voice to agree.

His skin began to sweat now, the heat of his chances lowering minute after minute that they were basked in silence. His onyx colored hair clung to his forehead, and for a second he looked like a child. Despite the budding stubble along his cheeks, he looked small and unsure. His features looked pained as if he were holding back some form of desperation that threatened to spill out.

Or maybe it had more to do with the way that the basement still had a lingering smell of smoke.

He'd lived in this house for months since he'd returned back from New York in search of his sister, but not once had he traveled down here. If he listened hard enough, he could still hear the screams of his family, sharp and helpless, as they burned alive. Derek shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory. Placing all of his focus into matching his distorted breathing to hers, hearing her pulse shift beneath her skin, he looked at her from beneath his hooded lids.

She wore this expression of acceptance, as if it were her own way of assuring him that there was no room for dissension between the two of them. And the look within her eyes somehow left him struck, feeling the vulnerability absolve entirely. Because he felt comfortable with her enough to know her judgment did not exist, it was like a weight being lifted from his ever burdened shoulders.

In his twenty--one years of life, he'd never met anyone like that. Someone so entirely accepting of his flaws, that it terrified him. It terrified him, because he did not know how to accept it. How was he suppose to react? His mouth moved on it's own accord, opening as if to thank her, only to have his lips press back into a thin line.

Perhaps a thank you would not be enough.

Out of all the people he'd grown to know since returning to Beacon Hills, it was her, this wide eyed girl with no real comprehension of what darkness this town offered, that came for him. She'd left her formal dance, a reasonable right of passage for any high school student, to look for him. Riley did not owe him anything, yet she'd given him something by simply proving that his life was worth saving.

That his life was worth more than he'd ever even known.

Derek opened his mouth again, this time wanting for force the words out, but before they could, his ears rang with the sound of a distant and forceful howl. He paused, eyes narrowing in concentration as he strained his hearing. It was the sound of hope, carrying on the breeze from miles away. Scott McCall bellowed back in acknowledgement, ensuring from the throaty growl expanding from his throat, that he was on his way.

His howl had swam across the brisk night, falling into a faint echo as it breezed past the Hale house. "What is it?" Riley questioned, noticing him become visibly still.

Perking up just a bit straighter, his fisted hands tugged on his shackles firmly for just a second, testing it's weakness as if he feared Scott would not make it. "Reinforcements." Derek murmured.

"He heard you?" She huffed out with a relieved breath. Not having heard Scott's faint and died out roar, she could only assume from the sudden change in Derek Hale's body language. "That means Kate didn't get to him." She concluded. Knowing the Hunter had left nearly an hour ago now in search of the second Beta, she was grateful to learn that her friend, Scott McCall, had evaded her for now. But upon further study, she recognized an undesirable flicker of emotion cross over Derek's features. "You don't look too happy?"

Having her point it out reminded him to keep his emotion in check. He'd learned the hard way, that Riley Haven was extremely observant. Shaking his head in the slightest, "If Scott could hear me from over seven miles away," he trailed off for a moment, looking to her consequently with worry struck eyes, "I'm wondering who else may have too."

That hadn't been a worry within Riley's mind until now. Until he'd brought up the assumption that more hunters could be flocking their way, or even worse, Peter Hale.

The idea of seeing the psychotic Alpha again left her skin peppered with chills. Peter Hale seemed ruthless and unforgiving in the short amount of time she'd known him, nothing like his nephew Derek. It made Riley wonder about his life before the fire. How he'd grown up with his mother, father, two sisters and uncle as a supernatural being. Assuming it had been hard on him, it left her curious to know if the man cuffed to the steel beams before her was anything like the child he'd once been.

Or had Kate siphoned it from him?

Had she taken the innocence burrowed within Derek Hale the same way she'd taken his family? Forcefully? Mercilessly? Glancing to him briefly, she could see the flicker of understanding cross over his face. It was her turn to ask, "What is it?", as he looked to her with a careful expression. It was as if he'd been trying to string together a coherent enough idea for ages now, until it all made sense.

"Kate's going to finish what she started." He mentioned with narrowed eyes. "This isn't about me or you," he declared firmly, "At first, it was about finding the Alpha," his bared torso flexed with each deep breath he took, "But now that she know's Scott's the second Beta . . . "

"She's going to kill two Werewolve's with one stone." Riley gathered as she voiced her poorly worded analogy. Looking to Derek from beneath her lashes, she found herself gnashing her teeth together, "Three." She concluded assuringly, looking to the wolf across from her with knowing eyes. "Drawing Scott here," Riley muttered with a shaking voice, "Will inevitably lure in Peter too."

"It's a trap." Derek agreed. "Everything's going exactly how Kate want's it too."

"Not exactly." A heavy and windblown voice corrected. Riley's eyes widened, twisting her head over her shoulder to see a figure lingering in the doorway. It was clouded in darkness, taking slow and precise steps forward until their features were illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead light above. "No one's dying tonight." He promised.

Scott McCall's shaggy brown hair was wild, as if he'd ran the distance between the school and the Hale house as fast as he could. His breathing was steady and controlled as he glanced down to Riley at his side, reaching his hand forward until it wrapped around the metal link binding the two cuffs to the pipe above her, and tugged it in one swift strike as the metal chain pulled apart within his palm. "Thank God." Riley huffed with an exaggerated sigh.

Her arms fell into her lap, numb and heavy as her fingers fiddled with the broken cuffs until they slipped from her wounded wrists. "Couldn't stay out of trouble for an hour, could you?" Scott remarked as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to help her to her feet. Riley stumbled for a second, feeling a haze capture her vision as a painful pulse throbbed behind her lids.

Her feet ached as she balanced her weight back into the heels enclosed around her feet. "I don't think now is the best time to be lecturing me," she dubbed sarcastically. "Especially since a rogue hunter and psychotic werewolf are probably both on their way here to throw--down like some kind of supernatural thunder--dome." Her hands slid down the length of her dress as she straightened it out, looking to Derek who still remained bound to the beam over his head. "C'mon," Riley nudged Scott, "Help me get him down."

"No." The amount of certainty within Scott's voice made her stop dead in her tracks.

Riley stumbled to a sudden halt as her head whipped over her shoulder in surprise. "No?" She mocked in a strained voice. "We're not just going to leave him here." She analyzed her friends features, the squared notion of his crooked jaw suggested he was questioning why he'd come in the first place. "Scott." Riley seethed, gaining his attention as his eyes drifted from the chained werewolf before them and to her.

"Not until he tells me how to stop Peter." Scott bravely kept his stance.

"You really want to talk about this now?" Riley demanded, her sense of panic starting to finally swell inside her lungs the longer they idled there.

"He's going after Allison." Scott reminded her, eyeing her accusingly as if she'd forgotten. "And shortly after you disappeared from the dance," he relayed, "he went after Lydia."

Riley felt her breath of air sink into the pit of her stomach, trying to format a proper way to understand what he meant. "He bit her?" Derek demanded from behind Riley, feeling a chill pass along her spine at his blatant conclusion. But Scott nodded with the smallest gesture, his brown eyes brimming with anxiety and anger.

Why would Peter Hale go after Lydia Martin? What tactic was he playing at?

Derek ground his teeth together, trying to identify the reasoning behind his uncle's lack in morality. What purpose would Lydia serve as a Beta? Why bite someone who lacked the strength and mentality to carry a pack? "Is she--is she okay?" Riley's voice carried into his ears, numbing the tension surfacing between the three of them as Derek watched her from behind.

Her voice was shaken, filled with so much concern that he could visibly see her shoulders begin to quake. Scott did not look back at her, but kept his narrowed eyes locked on Derek Hale. "No one knows yet." Scott kept a firm eye on the Beta before him, taking a step forward as he lined himself up beside Riley. "I won't let him hurt anyone else," Scott announced slowly. "So, tell me how to stop him." Riley turned to glance back at Derek, who kept his lips pressed into a firm and thin line. She met his gaze, her hazel eyes softening to pleading with him silently. "What's it going to take to make you cooperate?" Scott demanded harshly. "Someone else getting bit? Someone dying?" His voice rose an octave higher, a side of him Riley had never seen before. "Who'll be next?" His features squinted together to show his disbelief. "Allison?" He pegged. "Stiles? Jackson?" He looked to the girl beside him, hearing the slight increase of Derek's pulse as he eyed his friend, "Riley?"

Derek felt his throat swell up, clearing it as a guttural snarl, low and deep, vibrated from his chest. This kind of reaction was not what he expected from himself, but he felt his bones rattle at the thought. He heard her voice then, like a tunnel of echoing chimes filtering through his head as Riley asked in a soft a calming voice how to stop Peter. "You can't." He finally snapped, the tension in his body finally subsiding as he looked between her and Scott with rapid eyes. "You can't stop him, okay? Now get me out of here!"

It was the panic beginning to bubble inside his veins, his heart rate doubling as his enclosed fists tugged against the cuffs to no avail. "Promise you'll help me." Scott did not ask, but rather suggested doing so would be in Derek's favor.

The werewolf bound before Riley's eyes breathed heavily, his lips curling into a nasty expression as his eyes darkened as if to intimidate the Beta. "You want me to risk my life for your girlfriend?" Derek hissed. "For your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely nothing!" The shrill darkness of Derek's tone caused Riley's limbs to lock in fear as he continued. "I'm not risking my life for any of the Argent's!"

He assumed Scott could determine why, since it was Kate who had demolished everything good that once was within Derek's life. Riley felt the need to step forward, to use her own body as a shield as if to protect Scott McCall from the brutality Derek was spewing. And once he saw her stumble forward, placing herself in between two anger fueled werewolves, did Derek's hostile rant fade into heavy breath's of air. He hadn't wanted anyone, let alone her, to see him this way.

Riley felt incredibly brave to step between them, as if she could someone stop them from tearing each other apart with their words. But somehow it had worked, because despite the quiver of her bones and the fear lingering within her eyes, Derek's argument had subsided. "Maybe you're right," Scott murmured from behind her, taking a small step to his left to see Derek still visibly fueled with rage. "But I know something you don't." He assured, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket as he unraveled it's crinkled edges to hold up for Derek to see. "Peter said he didn't know what he was doing when he killed your sister, Laura, remember? He said he was out of his mind." Scott held up the paper just a tad higher as Derek analyzed it, a picture of the corpse of a deer with a red and bloody spiral carved into it's side. "This is what brought your sister back to Beacon Hills in the first place, right?"

Derek did not agree, but by the narrowed glare within his eyes, Scott was sure he'd captured the wolf's attention. "My boss, Deaton, told me that three months ago, someone came into the clinic asking about this picture . . . Any guess as to who it was?" Scott crumpled the paper back up and tossed it at Derek's feet. "Peter's nurse." He relayed. "It's was Peter's plan from the beginning. He lured your sister here so that he could kill her and become the Alpha!"

He spoke with such assurance, as if the revelation would put Derek in his corner. Truthfully, even as much as he trusted Scott, he didn't want to believe that. But he knew his uncle almost better than he knew himself. Having grown up as a witness to the manipulative and abusive surgancy Peter was capable of. And because of it, his sister had died at his hands. And a vengeful riptide seeped from the pits of his stomach, his anger now pinpointed to the uncle he never saw eye to eye with. With all the anger flooding his bones, fueling the hostility he wished to unleash, Derek yanked against the chains that bound him . . .

And this time they bent against the force of his strike and released him. "I'll help you." He promised.


	10. A Right of Passage

The basement of the Hale house felt like a distant memory once the three of them emerged from the tunnels leading from beneath the house and to a gated slope just a few hundred yards from the front porch. Riley’s feet felt unsteady, clasped within her strappy heels as they dug into the plantation beneath them. She walked between Derek and Scott, a dense cloud of silence hovering above them as they idled in the front yard of the home. Derek was clothed now, his shirt torn just below the curve of his ribs as her fingers toyed with the chiffon hem of her dress.

Despite being out in the open, with nothing but trees surrounding them for miles, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the safest place she could be. Beside two werewolves who she knew would protect her at all costs . . . Even against a hunter and an Alpha. But Derek was on their side now, tired of running when it came to facing Kate Argent, because perhaps after all these years it was hard to face the one person responsible for the loss he sustained. Kate had shifted the world beneath his feet, altering the once steady foundation he walked among into something ragged and cracked. Like looking into her charming blue eyes somehow brought back the memory, falling back into the depths of horror he’d once locked away. Seeing her face made the familiar scent of charred wood waft back into his lungs. It made the desperate cries from his family ricochet through his ears. Seeing her made the heat of the fire linger on the back of his neck, leaving his mouth dry and his palms sweaty. Kate Argent was the only person he still somehow felt terrified of, not wanting her wrath to fall upon anyone in this town ever again.

And Peter, who’d lured his sister here with the premeditated murderous idea evolving from his twisted thoughts left him disgusted. The only remaining family he had left, yet he still could not trust him. It was as if the world were working against him, wanting him to feel the wretchedness that his life had to offer. And with two people like them, filled with rage and vengeance, Derek knew that somewhere safe was not here. 

He could see the blue Jeep up ahead, parked within the depth of the tree-line. Something instinctive collected in his actions as his hand suddenly wrapped around the top of Riley’s arm as he lead her forward. It startled her, looking to him with a frantic and questioning squint of her eye as her legs struggled to keep up with his long strides. “I want you to get in this car,” he demanded without eye contact, reaching for the handle of the Jeep as he opened it for her, “And drive home.”

It was a demand unlike any other, because something within his tone suggested that maybe she wouldn’t get the chance to later. His grip was forceful as he guided her into the front seat, but gentle once his grasp loosened and his palm ghosted over her skin in a light, quick stroke. Riley felt puzzled, her mind rewiring his words to make them sound like a threat. She’d risked her safety to come and find him, only to have him bark orders at her to leave. Scott shuffled back and forth a few dozen feet behind, his eyes raking over the darkness as if he were sure something lethal stalked in it’s shadows.

The keys to the Jeep were still in the ignition, and even after Derek had released her and taken a step back to close the door, she found that she could not make herself flip it’s switch. 

Derek stood beside the drivers side door, the window open as he gave her a stern glare to get the hell out of there. “I can’t just leave—“ she tried to stammer, but found it hard to work out the words with a lump in her throat.

“Your friends need you.” He reminded, his green eyes softening the slightest bit as he nodded his head. “Make sure Lydia’s okay.”

His suggestion assured her that the red head would need someone to lean on, despite not knowing the turnout of Peter’s bite. Some people just weren’t made for that kind of power . . . Sometimes the bite could do more harm than good. “We don’t have much time.” Scott announced from behind, straining his ears in hopes that he’d be able to hear anyone’s quick approach.

The feeling within the pit of her stomach agreed, that something was coming and it wouldn’t be safe. If Kate Argent and Peter Hale were both on their way here, she knew the two would eventually meet . . . Face to face after six years of vengeance bubbling up inside them. And without much thought, she had her money on Peter. An Alpha with cause, having murdered anyone involved in the Hale fire, she knew he wouldn't hesitate to slit the throat of its ring leader.

But Kate had tactic, patience and a whole hell of a lot of practice when it came to hunting werewolves. Her arsenal of weapons were lethal to a creature like him, Derek and Scott . . . Which is why Riley felt so compelled to stay. Surely she would not think twice about putting a bullet into any of their heads, but Scott and Derek’s safety were not a promised thing as soon as she left this place. Which is why she couldn’t go. The fear that radiated through her bones was visible to Derek now as he studied her a bit closer. Seeing her flesh pucker with chills and quiver reminded him of why she needed to get as far away from here as she could. She was terrified, and people sometimes made dumb decisions out of fear. He wouldn’t be able to protect her if she stayed, not against Kate, not against Peter, and certainly not against himself.

And there was something bobbing in the dark well of his isolated soul, something grasping for light. It was her. It was the will to live ebbing in the dim wake of war. He wanted her to live. He wanted her to be the one to make it out of this, because he owed her as much. Because out of anyone that could have come for him, it had been her. Riley Haven. A sudden pain embedded into his left thigh then, his knees buckling at the force before gripping the door frame for support. Riley flinched, seeing his knuckles turn white with the amount of strength he forged to hold himself upright. 

A heavy huff of air slipped from between his clenched teeth, his features now squinted up into an expression brimming with an unimaginable ache. Without thinking, Riley reached out her hand to grip his once his body swayed, his feet fumbling over one another as he yanked his hand out from beneath hers, leaning into the hood of the Jeep to keep his balance. “Son of a b—“ His tone was breathless and mid gasp when from the corner of Riley’s eye, she saw something fly past the open window and imbed itself into Derek’s chest.

A slim and long stick protruded from the right side of his torso, feeling her hands grip the open edge of the window with tightened knuckles. Her first thought should have been to stay in the car, to perhaps cower in the open floor space below the seat of the Jeep . . . But her nerves did not follow through. Shoving the door open with as much force as she could, she found herself in the direct line of open fire as Derek slumped from the hood of the car and to the grassy terrain below. 

He wheezed shallowly as his hand rose to rake over the arrow’s burrowed in his thigh and chest. The arrow heads that tore through his muscle must have been poisoned, feeling a lingering burn of wolfsbane seep into his flesh. Though pain struck and disoriented, his eyes met Rileys as she stood before him, arms at her sides and plump lips parted in disbelief. Her hands twitched, as if she wanted to reach for him. As if she was so sure she could get him into the Jeep fast enough, before another arrow sped their way.

His eyes, unfocused and rapidly searching, fell upon the tree-line over Riley’s shoulder. Two figures lingered in it’s shadow, a bulbous metal tipped arrow being drawn back by a skilled archer. “Scott!” Derek’s voice lurched loudly to the Beta a few dozen feet away, “Cover your eyes!” 

The archer released the flash bulb, hearing it wheeze forward in a haste filled hiss.

It was directed toward him again, defenselessly spread across his back as he recounted it’s trajectory over and over as if it were hurling forward in slow motion. At it’s speed and direction, it was bound to clip the girl towering over him's shoulder. With a quick and firm grasp, Derek reached his arm out to encircle Riley’s wrist, yanking her down to her knees just as the arrow soared over her head. Shaken by the sudden happenings, Riley felt her body conform to his will. Her bare knees sunk into the debris flooded ground, bending at the waist once Derek’s hand left her wrist and wrapped around her shoulders, shielding her eyes from the bright burst of light that ignited once the flash bulbed arrow struck a nearby tree. Flash bulbs were a necessary tactic used by hunters to blind their prey. The flash of light would overwhelm their retinas, leaving them disoriented for a short amount of time.

Riley’s head was wedged between Derek’s shoulder and his hand. His palm cradled the back of her neck, her eyes shut so incredibly tight until his hold on her slackened, sitting up slightly as she peeked over at Scott McCall. His arms were over his eyes, his face squinted together as the brightness dimmed down enough to focus. Riley rolled back onto the heels of her feet, allowing Derek room to breathe as her eyes raked their surrounding in a panic. And as she looked over her shoulder, too petrified to move from her knees, she saw two women stalk forward.

The face of the older woman was cold and lacking mercy. Her sandy blonde hair bounced with each confident step forward. But it was the girl beside her, still baby faced and unsure at Kate Argent’s side that caught Riley’s eye. And in return, the brunette and doe—eyed teenager looked back at her, stumbling over her feet as she kept up with her aunt’s pace. “You told me no one else would be here.” Allison Argent whispered in a surprised and conflicted hiss.

Kate huffed, rolling her eyes as they traveled closer to the three of them. “I told you there wouldn’t be any innocents.” Her aunt corrected her, as a swell of anger pulsed above her throat. Her statement made Allison wonder what involvement Riley had in this, cowering beside a werewolf. It wasn’t until an hour ago that Kate spilled their family history to her, pinning the blame of thousands of deaths on the supernatural. And even as Allison’s eyes reverted from Riley’s to Scott’s, watering at the sight of him after finally knowing the truth. Having been the bunt of so many lies, used to cover Scott’s secrets, she felt her jaw tense with realization, knowing someone she’d trusted and loved unconditionally wasn’t who she’d expected.

Feeling Derek’s skin rattle as a growl sifted from his thinly pressed lips, her impulsive nature shifted closer to him, perched on her knees beside his hips, never taking her eyes off of Kate. “Al—Allison.” Scott’s voice was tender as he raised his palms up to face her, it was as if he were surrendering, hoping that by doing so, the barrel of Kate’s pistol would lower from his general direction. “Whatever she told you . . .” He stammered as the two women halted their advance just a few dozen feet from them, “I—I can promise you it’s not the whole truth.”

“At least it’s something.” Allison remarked, tears flooding her eyes as she firmly gripped the bow at her side. A sling of arrows were strewn over her shoulder, one quick snag away if she needed to draw one forward. “But you, Scott,” she accused, “you lied about everything.” Kate’s head tilted in agreement, steadying her pistol with a perfect aim on the boy before them. “You—You’re a—“ the words couldn't even leave her mouth, biting the inside of her cheeks as her limbs vibrated with anxious thoughts.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Kate hummed with feigned exhaustion, “Shoot him.”

Riley’s body perked at her order, her hands curling into tight fists as she balanced her shaking frame against the ground. Kate lowered her gun, looking to her niece with assurance.

Allison stumbled back a step, the bow within her hands growing too entirely heavy at the weight of Kate’s demand. “You said we were only going to trap them.” The teenaged Argent sputtered, looking between Scott and her aunt with fear stricken eyes.

Kate laughed, “We did!” She reminded with a pearly white smile. Her skin pulled over her high cheeks bones, causing her eyes to wrinkle in the corners. “Now we’re going to kill them.” With a precise and fluid raise of her arm, Kate Argent aimed her gun at Derek Hale. In that second, Riley felt her stomach lurch into her throat so forcefully that her scream erupted like a breathless gasp. A shrill pop echoed over the treetops, closing her eyes for only a second as she flinched at the sound, feeling Derek’s body shift at her side before becoming numbingly still.

It was Allison who met Riley’s gaze first, having allowed the wetness that gathered there to finally spill over in incomprehensible fear. This wasn’t suppose to be a part of the plan. No one was suppose to die. Riley felt the blood within her veins run cold, too entirely afraid to glance at the man laying at her side. ‘He’s dead,’ she thought logically, replaying those words over and over within her head like an ill minded chant.

Forcing her gaze to broaden, raking her eyes up the length of Derek’s limp legs as she skimmed past the arrow in his thigh, up his hips, up his torso to where the second arrow burrowed in his chest, to where she caught sight of his blood soaked shirt below his collar bone. The bullet hadn’t made an exit, unknown if this bullet was anything like the one that nearly killed him a month ago. His body was uncomfortably still, feeling her own begin to lock up in terror. And then his chest heaved so suddenly it startled her, a hungry breath tearing from his lungs as he coughed around the groan rising to his lips.

At least he was breathing. “Your turn.” Kate acknowledged, looking to her niece for clarification as she scanned her eyes back to Scott McCall. With tears streaking across her porcelain cheeks, Allison’s breath became shallow and heavy. She looked at Scott with fear, not because she was afraid of him, but because of what she was afraid Kate would do. “Oh,” her aunt sighed, “I know that look.” She studied Allison with tactful eyes. “That’s the ‘I’m gonna have to do it myself’ look.” She mocked.

The hunter rose her arm again, her pointer finger hovering over the trigger of her Pistol. “Kate—Kate!” Allison seemed to finally regain function of her voice, her tone pleading as she faced her aunt with merciful eyes. “Please, don’t!” 

This was not what Allison wanted when her Aunt Kate had made it seem as if these monsters weren’t capable of peace. Perhaps she second guessed the conviction in Kate’s cause. And being new to this world made up of creatures she couldn’t fathom existing, she couldn’t help but figure that killing them off was not going to resolve anything. And as she glanced to Derek Hale and Riley Haven, she pieced it together that maybe the rumors of her aunt Kate setting fire to the the house they stood before weren’t entirely false.

Innocent people had died then . . . And innocent people were going to die now.

“Kate.” A more stern and authoritative voice called. Riley’s eyes burned as she held back the well threatening to spill over, her head shifting over her shoulder to see a figure emerge from the woods. He was a man, wise despite his younger years. His stance was defensive, his hair peppered with gray as his narrowed and bright blue eyes landed on his sister. “Put the gun down." Chris Argent had tracked his daughter and sister through the woods, knowing Kate’s plan to unfold the truth about their families legacy to Allison. The young Argent wasn’t ready for that kind of knowledge, nor that kind of weight to carry. Chris assessed the situation with a skillful mind, seeing the Beta wounded off to the side beside Riley, a friend from school that Allison had spoken highly of, and back to his sister. Her gun drawn, directed toward the Beta, Scott McCall, the boy his daughter loved. “I know what you did—“

“I did what I was told to do.” Kate spat back towards her brother.

Chris continued forward with small steps, his hands at his sides, not willing to surrender like Scott had. “No one told you to murder innocent people.” He elaborated, looking intently at her and to the old flame ridden house behind her. It had taken him six years to believe the rumors of his sisters crime. All this time he’d stuck up for her, unable to believe she would have killed an entire family of innocent werewolves. “There were children in that house,” he reminded her of the Hale family lineage, “One’s who were human. And look at you now,” he held his arm out to acknowledge the scene before him, “You’re holding a gun at a sixteen year old boy, with no proof he’s spilled human blood.” Despite Chris being determined to persuade her, Kate squared her jaw and held the gun with a much firmer grip. “We go by the code,” he reminded, “Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

It was a familiar language to Riley, a crisp and flawless translation of French, but the formation of words could not be put together in her mind, too full of undeniable fear and panic. “You remember the code still, don’t you?” Chris interrogated her, but Kate refused to take her eyes off the young Beta. “We hunt those who hunt us.” He finally murmured when his sister would not respond. It dawned on him that his sister must have lost her morality years ago.

Without realizing it, Riley gently brushed her hand along Derek’s ribs, feeling for the slight inflation of air as a sign that he was still breathing. His skin, despite it being cold, slowly rose and sunk in sputtering heaves. Her rigid fingers curled at the idea of him dying, especially near his childhood home, a chilling scene to an even more heinous crime. “Put the gun down, Kate.” He ordered once more. Having lead their family through strenuous hunts across the world, he felt as if he had some form of authority over her. But Kate had never been the kind to follow direction. With a quick arm, Chris Argent swept his own gun from his holster, aiming it just over his sisters shoulder and pulled the trigger. “Or I’ll put you down.”

It was a warning shot, hearing the bullet ricochet against the bark of the tree aligned behind her. He let it be known that he would not stand for such cruelty, especially to someone as young as Scott McCall. The example Kate lead was not who he wanted his daughter to follow. Someone so callous and brutal could not be allowed to teach the younger generations of hunters. Allison deserved better than that. And maybe there was a part of Kate, small and microscopical, that knew that too. Kate hadn’t been born a murderer . . . She’d been brainwashed to be.

With a square jaw and shaking hand, she lowered her gun from Scott’s direction.

And despite the worst part thought to be over, there was no relief once she’d dropped her weapon to her feet and Scott’s hunched frame had straightened. With the threat of murder dissolving before Riley’s eyes, she still felt this undeniable fear radiate within her chest. And as Derek slowly started to come to, his eyes opening into pain filled slits, she was still unsure of his fate. If Derek could survive being gutted by Peter Hale, surely he could survive this too, right? She wasn’t sure, and as the panic continued to swarm the inside of her mind, Derek’s lips tugged the smallest bit at the corner. If she hadn’t already been focused on the trickle of blood gathering there, she wouldn’t have seen it. But it was there, and she took it as a sign that he could sense the concern flooding from her body. Her palm still cupped the smooth curve of his ribs, feeling the indents align with the spaces between her fingers each time he exhaled to his lungs full extent. He was focusing on healing himself, willing the cells within his body to merge together and reform his wounds.

A hauntingly low creak of the front door to the Hale house sounded then, drawing the attention of all six off them as their eyes skimmed over it’s dark depth. “What is that?” Riley voiced, her throat sore and her tone clouded in fear.

Through the haze of the front door, something shifted, but her eyes were not as heightened as Scott or Derek’s. “The Alpha.” Derek wheezed. Though still visibly pained, he scooted forward until he could balance the weight of his shoulders onto his elbows. 

“Get behind me.” Chris reached for his daughter, Allison, stepping before her with a drawn gun.

Scott turned as well, baring his teeth alongside his glowing yellow eyes. His stance was protective and brave, his nails elongating into claws in preparation for a fight. Kate bent back down to retrieve her gun, pointed firmly upon the gaping door of the home she’d burned down. 

With shaking limbs, Derek brought himself into a seated position, following the small command in the back of his head telling him he needed to get up and fight. His fist rose, encircling the feathery end of the arrow embedded into his chest. Riley watched, her hand still unintentionally on him, as she watched him grit his teeth and flare his nostrils. And with a quick shake of his head, erasing the pain from his thoughts as if it were not real, he snapped the body of the arrow in half before tossing the end of it to the side.

A groan snaked its way up his throat just as Riley heard Chris fire a warning shot at the Alpha stalking them. Riley and Derek shared a desperate glance with one another, knowing what was bound to happen next. Peter Hale emerged from the Hale home, a guttural snarl directed at the Argents as the Alpha narrowly dodged another bullet. Riley remained planted beside Derek off to the side, her human eyes unable to keep up with the speed in which Peter ran circles around Kate, Chris, Allison and Scott.

And with another steady and hallow breath, Derek gripped the arrow planted within his thigh, cursing under his breath before tearing it out completely this time. The metal and ragged edge of the arrow head was a deep crimson color, the rusted scent of blood filling the space between. them. A grunt from up ahead caught their attention, seeing the limp body of Chris Argent skid back over a dozen feet before landing in a grassy patch of terrain unconscious. Allison cried out, short and shrill before Peter finally came to a halt.

Kate’s gun was poised, finger perched over the trigger as Peter enclasped her wrist within his clawed hand, bending her arm to such an odd angle, Riley was sure it had to of broke, as he jerked the direction of the barrel off of him. A small downpour trickled in from the north then, a slow and steady rhythm as Peter curved his palm along the base of Kate’s throat and dragged her forward. “No!” Allison huffed, rising to her feet. Riley watched Kate thrash against the hold of Derek’s uncle until they both disappeared through the front door of the Hale house and into it’s darkness.

The brave and younger hunter, Allison, followed behind willingly. Despite the life of her aunt being in the hands of a werewolf, she lurched forward as Scott McCall trailed after.

A silence so incredibly eerie fell upon Riley and Derek, the two remaining outside as the fight moved in doors. Struggling to uphold his weight at first, Derek stumbled to his feet in a determined manor. “Where are you going?” Riley’s eyes widened, her knee’s aching as she rolled back onto her feet to stand along side him.

Instinctively she kept her hand flattened along the tops of his ribs, below the pit of his arm to keep him steady. Derek’s gaze was transfixed on his old home, looking at the space where Scott had just slipped through. “Making sure he doesn’t die.” He murmured.

Reluctantly, Riley dropped her hand as she leaned back into the heels of her shoes. Derek’s fists unraveled to show his clawed fingers then, a deep rumble vibrating through his chest like a vengeful growl. Her skin was drenched in a passing chill as she watched his green eyes fade into a glowing blue, his teeth sharpening as he shifted into the monster that he often times kept caged. And Riley had to let him go, because if Derek couldn’t even keep the creature at bay, how could she? She watched as he straightened his form, squaring his shoulders before stalking off into the same depths her friends had a minute prior.

It wasn’t until he disappeared inside too, that she finally felt the brunt of how cold it was. Still cast within her winter formal dress, she couldn’t help the shiver guiding its way up her spine. Her palms raked over her smooth arms, hoping the friction would warm her enough to find the will to move. It took motivation that she didn’t quite have, forcing her feet to break from their stance and carry her forward. The slight incline of the hill kept the burn within her calves alive, as if the small ache was a sign that she was still breathing.

Despite her shallow huffs for air, she didn’t feel alive. She felt defeated.

Swallowing the fear developing in the back of her mouth, she paused a few feet away from where Chris Argent remained unconscious. Allisons father was a good looking man, lean and built in a way that most fathers weren't. His years of active hunting in the supernatural world had kept him young, despite being forty years old. Riley tore her gaze away from Chris then, hearing a slow retreat sound from the heel of Allison’s boots. She stumbled back out from the front door, the house illuminated by the full moon, as she shakily descended the porch steps. Riley met her at the bottom, her hands clasping around her friends arms as Allison leaned into her with tear stricken eyes. “He killed her.” She breathed as she hid her face in the crook of Riley’s neck. Her arms wound around her friends shoulders in return.

Allison shuddered at the touch, a sob tearing from her lips as Riley’s skin muffled her cries. He’d killed her, Riley replayed Allison’s words. Peter Hale had killed Kate Argent before Allison’s very eyes. Wanting to sympathize with her, having experienced death first hand, Riley couldn’t bring herself to comfort her with words. The woman who terrorized and killed innocent people wasn’t breathing . . . And if she wasn’t breathing, that meant her reign of terror was over.

A scuffle sounded from the open door, the undeniable brittle snap of glass breaking and wood splintering. If Kate was dead, that meant that perhaps Peter still wasn’t satisfied. That maybe as the Alpha, his thirst for vengeance was insatiable. 

The fight ensuing had since awoken Chris Argent, rising to his feet with an aching frame as he took over the role as comforting father. Riley took a step back, but her feet paused once she found that he too, kept a tender palm on her shoulder. It was a touch she hadn't expected, not having felt the kind gesture of a father in a long time. She figured that beneath that hard exterior of a skilled hunter, was a gentle and stoic build of a loving father.

Startled by the window to the front of the house suddenly imploding, Riley watched as Scott McCall was ejected from it like a rag doll. And as he was strewn across the green field of what was once the Hale’s front yard, she watched the unforgettable silhouette of the Alpha emerge after him. Chris Argent tugged Riley closer, willingly placing himself between the beast and the two girls as Riley strained to see over his shoulder. The phased version of Peter Hale had left her with nightmares after the incident at the school. It left her sleepless and paranoid as if she needed to live her life continuously looking over her shoulder. Maybe after this, she would always have to. 

This phased version of Peter was bi—pedal, but stood on it’s back legs as it towered over Scott McCall by a good four feet. It’s burley frame was not now Hollywood portrayed it in their movies. This monster was vicious . . . It was cruel. It seeked vengeance in unforgiving ways. The Alpha’s muzzle was pulled back with it’s fangs bare, snarling as Scott McCall rose to his feet in a slight sway. But even it’s snarl could not compare to it’s hollow and careless red eyes.

The Alpha was suddenly hurled forward, caught off guard as Derek swung from the railing of the porch awning, using the force of his own body to kick the beast off of it’s feet. And in the time it took for the creature to regain it’s composure, Scott and Derek stood side by side to face it again. They refused to give up on Peter and his relentless ways, because if they did not serve as the protectors of Beacon Hills, they couldn’t imagine how many more deaths would become of Peter’s rage.

And as if bravery were second nature to them, Derek and Scott sprinted forward with glowing eyes, rigid claws and threatening growls. Joining together in the cause against a brutal force. Seeing the violent nature of these creatures up close, Riley found it conflicting that she could not look away. Trailing her eyes on the way both Scott and Derek circled around Peter, tearing into the creature with the hopes of winning. But instead of a prize of sorts, they’d be winning the undervalued liberty of peace. Of not fearing the shadows or who walked among them. They’d be winning the opportunity to live their lives, to grieve their loses and start again.

Chris Argent could see the Beta’s losing at the hands of Peter, their bodies torn and blood soaked, their will to fight still pouring from them with all that they had left. He assessed the situation from a distance, his skillful mind concluding a solution that would allow these Beta’s to live. He took a step forward, reaching for Allison’s abandoned bow just a few feet away. He handed it to her with a stern nod, his eyes insisting that she follow his lead.

Riley stepped back, watching as Allison pulled an arrow from the sling across her back and drew it sharply at her fathers silent request. Riley watched with curious eyes, knowing an arrow would not be enough to hinder someone like Peter Hale. The sharp end of the arrow remained balanced above her pointer finger, her other hand holding the feathery end of it back in a steady line. Chris reached into the pocket of his jacket, retrieving a silver trinket from it’s depths. He flipped the lip of it with his thumb, a small flame rupturing from its sprout. His expression was hard and assertive, extending his hand until the lighter idled just beneath the metal—carved arrowhead. The flames gathered at it’s wooden base, fueled by the flammable adhesive used to create the arrows by hand. Allison felt the fire as it teased her knuckles with it’s warmth. “Focus.” Chris whispered to her.

The glow from the fire brought the brawl to a standstill then, all eyes on Allison as she steadily released the flame enthralled arrow towards the beast. The Alpha snarled, raising its arms to shield it’s eyes, exposing it’s belly to the fast approaching weapon aimed by the young archer. The head of the arrow lodged into it’s side, a howl so high pitched echoing through the night as Riley covered her ears with her hands. She closed her eyes once the flames engulfed Peter’s body, shutting out the sound of his wailing as the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. It was in this second that Riley wished she’d never pried when it came to the truth. If not for her unnerving curiosity, she wouldn't be baring witness to this.

It had only taken a few moments for the fire to consume him before dying out. She peeked once more from behind Chris Argent’s shoulder, seeing the charred un-phased body of Peter Hale. He lay upon the debris flood ground, smoke rising from him like a breath on a cold winter night. 

Looking to Derek, who had his back to her before moving forward in a ghost—like manner, he hovered over the burned, but lively, remains of his uncle. A traumatic sight to see given the previous demise of his entire family. Riley stepped out of the protective stance of Chris’ body, moving forward on her feet’s own accord as she stood beside Scott, bloodied and beaten as his body furiously began to heal him from the inside out.

Reverting her gaze back to Derek, kneeling beside his uncle as his took his final breaths. Being engulfed in flames for the second time, he was cognoscente enough to sense the feelings of his nephew. “You’re. . .” Peter stammered through charred and chapped lips, “still afraid . . . of me.” Wheezing through his slowing breaths, it was his final attempt at insinuating Derek would always be the weaker of the two.

But Derek did not feel afraid, for the first time in a long while, he felt relieved.

He could easily have let Peter pass away, and he’d never give his murderous uncle a second thought . . . But he wanted more than that. Derek wanted justice for his sister and for the power that was stolen from her. He did not want Peter to die with the alpha status he so wrongfully stole. Leadership was determined by werewolf lineage . . . If Laura hadn’t been murdered, it would have rightfully fallen on Derek.

And maybe this one thing was all he really had left of his sister. A way of honoring not only her, but the family that had perished six years prior. A low growl sifted through his stubbled cheeks, his hands becoming rigid as claws formed from the short beds of his nails. Without a second thought, Derek rose his arm above his head before coming down in one smooth swipe as his claws glided across Peter’s neck. A thin slit formed from ear to ear, his jaw hardening as the hateful glimmer in his uncles eyes subsided.

Something strange happened then, feeling a surge of power flood his veins before burrowing in his chest. It was the transfer of leadership, the passing of Alpha status from one werewolf to another, only transferable through the death of one. Like a cluster of weight thumping against his ribs, pushing his heart aside to make room for its presence, Derek felt his control slip slightly, finding it harder than usual to swallow the monster tearing it’s way up his throat.

Was this was being a leader felt like now? Being so . . . hollow?

Derek raked his eyes over the lifeless frame of his uncle, the last surviving relative he had before rising to his feet. The ache he’d felt earlier, from the wounds inflicted by Kate, they were gone now. As if the creature inside him had thicker skin. He turned to face the others, lingering back and forth between Scott and Riley. A coil of power tugged behind his eyes, shifting the gentle shade of green to a searing and angry red. “I’m the Alpha now.”


	11. Only a Favor

It had been two weeks later . . . Had it really only been two weeks later? The nightmares made it feel like it was just yesterday, the smell of charred skin still pungent in the air. Afraid to fall sleep sometimes, because Riley knew exactly where her subconscious mind would take her, it was the same almost every night. It was seeing the Alpha. Seeing Kate’s throat torn out . . . Some nights, she took Kate’s place. And it felt real. The tearing of the skin, the gasping for breaths, even to the point where she’d have to wheeze herself awake. And then the fire, seeing Peter burn. It would cue the screaming she couldn't escape from, the glow of the flames behind her lids. It was like it stalked her, the heat rising up the back of her neck as if to drown her in it’s sweltering charm. And sometimes she’d be Peter, the monster of Beacon Hills, tearing the throats out of the people she cared about. And in the end, it would be her burning for her cruelty. It would be her skin blistering and bleeding as the flames devoured her.

And after the fourth night in a row of feeling it gnaw away at her mind, she stopped fighting it.

Allowing the trauma to rot inside her mind, when so many other things seemed so much more important felt tiring. Lydia for example, who’d spent the last few weeks in the ICU, fighting off an infection that none of the doctors could explain. Peter had bitten her, which should have triggered her to shift, but it didn’t. It hadn’t. Scott even went as far as saying he didn’t think the bite had even effected her. But that didn’t explain her reaction to it, because Lydia Martin had suffered a physical reaction to the bite of a werewolf that no one could explain. And for a girl who still did not know about the monsters lurking in the dark, she didn’t question the memory of being bit by a human the night of the formal. Her memory must have cloaked itself, shielding her from the influx of unwanted information that she wouldn’t even benefit from.

But her friend was still in the Hospital recovering from the attack, having gone to see her almost every other day.

Her friendship with Scott had seemed to grow stronger since the night of the formal as well, able to rely on one another in a way they never would have expected. And though Allison still struggled with the recent death of her aunt, her and Scott still seemed close despite Chris Argent forbidding it. Everything else felt normal, though nothing had actually gone back to being so . . . Riley’s relationship with everyone felt stronger now . . . Everyone except— _Knock, knock, knock._

Fast asleep in her bed, having fallen face first into her pillow the minute she’d come home from work, quick three raps against the door startled her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a jaw stretching yawn, Riley checked the time on her phone. It was nearly eleven at night now. It had still been daylight out when she’d come home, finding her studio apartment basked in complete darkness since she’d fallen sleep.

She rose from her bed, groggy and disoriented as she straightened out her oversized t—shirt before heading to the door. Riley peeked through the peep hole, seeing a familiar silhouette of a man idle on her patio. She frowned, her lips turning at the corners as she leaned her forehead against the wooden frame with sudden conflict. The last person she’d ever expected to stop by her apartment now idled on the other side of it. “I don’t know if you can read!” She found the courage and audacity to yell through the wooden door. “But the door mat distinctly says ‘Go Away’!” Peeking through the peep hole again, she could clearly see that the figure made no move to retreat. ‘What could he want?’, she thought to herself, unlocking the dead bolt before opening the door a few inches.

Riley leaned against the frame, eyeing the man speculatively as he perched against the railing of the staircase. Not having seen him since the night of the formal, she could easily tell that there was something different about him now. The way he carried himself. The way his persona gravitated toward her. “Whatever you’re selling,” she half—way joked, “I don’t want any.” Derek Hale laughed, his dark hair finger combed back as his cheeks raised just the slightest. “What the hell do you want?”

It felt hard to look him the eyes, knowing that the Alpha that lurked behind them wasn’t someone who she was well acquainted with yet.

He felt like he knew her better than to beat around the bush. If he stated why he was here, the sooner the better. “I have a favor to ask.” Derek exclaimed briefly. “The County took over the Hale property today.” Riley’s narrowed eyes softened as he spoke, overly aware of her facial expressions and how she often times didn’t realize how bad her resting bitch—face was.

“Oh.” She said, shaking her head slightly in a slow manner. “I’m—I’m sorry to hear that." She felt skittish under his gaze, unsure of what to say that could possibly make him feel any better. Opening the door a bit wider, she crossed her arms uncomfortably over her chest as a lingering silence passed over them. “Is—is there something you needed from me?” She wondered when he did not elaborate.

It was Derek who felt uncomfortable now, shifting from foot to foot as he sighed indifferently. “Yeah,” he nodded as he scratched the scruff of his beard along his jawline, “A place to sleep tonight.” The weight of his favor hung heavily between them, her brows raising in surprise as she scratched the back of her neck nervously. And of course it made sense now, remembering that before the property had been seized, Derek had been living in his old run—down home.

Wanting to say no, she pressed her lips together to keep herself from speaking too quick.

Did he really not have anywhere else to stay? Had he asked Scott? Stiles? Hell, even Jackson? And if he did, was she his last resort? Did he not have the funds to sleep in a hotel tonight? Was the seize of property causing him to feel out of place? Lonely even? What kind of person would she be if she denied him for any of those reasons? Instead of speaking, she rolled her eyes to come off as annoyed and opened the front door further as she allowed him space to walk in past her. He smelled nice as he walked by, freshly showered as if he’d been staying somewhere before he’d come to her.

Closing the door behind her, Riley found herself watching him pace her studio apartment slowly.

His eyes raked her unmade bed, disheveled as though she’d been sleeping before he’d arrived. Her dresser was across from that, the drawers unevenly shut as clothes spilled from the corners. The tabletop was a disarray, covered in perfumes and un—matching pairs of scattered earrings. “Cosy.” Derek hummed, though he meant it in a light hearted way.

This was a side of her he hadn't ever seen before. The unorganized home of someone who seemed to have their life together. Riley crossed her arms at his comment, walking past him as she headed for the linen closet. “Happy you think so,” she remarked, “because you’ll be sleeping on the floor . . .” and as she put enough distance between both he and her, she whispered, “Asshole.” But it was like she’d forgotten he had supernatural abilities, able to easily identify the squeak of the brakes of a car a mile away, let alone her remark. Derek snorted silently, gnashing his teeth together to keep from smiling. He removed his leather jacket, the white t—shirt beneath an odd change for him. Riley was so use to seeing him in moody colors. Shades that reflected him as whole, but white was refreshing.

She disappeared for a second as she dug through her closet, retrieving her extra bed sheets that she’d rolled and tossed on the shelves months ago. Figuring she’d never use them, she’d once debated throwing them away. Riley hadn’t ever expected to have guests spend the night.

Rounding the corner from the bathroom back to the kitchen, she found him idling before her open cabinets, his fist gripping a cup of water dispensed into her favorite Harry Potter mug. Derek sipped attentively, eyeing the innards of her cabinets with a questioning stare. “Cocoa Puffs?” He asked, but it was more of a judgement.

“What?” She shrugged, reaching around him to slam the cabinet shut. “I like chocolate for breakfast.” She defended her cereal choices as if him snooping through her kitchen wasn’t just as bad. “What do you eat for breakfast?” She asked, noticing the bulkier curve of muscle he’d gained recently. “Raw eggs?” The silence between them was awkward, entirely so that it was Riley who ended up cracking first, snorting at her assumption as he cracked a small grin in return. “If you’re hungry,” Riley pointed to the fridge she leaned on, “There’s some spinach in the fridge, Popeye.”

Picking fun at him felt like a hobby now, liking the way his scruff covered cheeks were tinged a slight red. He chugged the rest of his tap water before setting the mug back down on the counter. “I prefer lean meats and complex carbs,” he responded truthfully, still taking part in her mockery, “considering the half eaten sleeve of thin mints in your cupboard, I’m assuming I won’t find any of that here.” Narrowing her features playfully at him, a response she never knew she was capable of when it came to Derek Hale.

Had he always been this light hearted? From what she could remember, he’d always been stern and unapproachable. But he seemed different for some reason, like taking on the status as Alpha had molded him into a completely different man. He by—passed her then as he headed back towards the front door. “Where are you going?” She asked, offering him a questionable look.

“To get some real food.” He replied. Derek reached down for the bunched up jeans at the foot of Rileys bed, unraveling them before tossing them her way. “There’s a diner up the road. Maybe if you shut your mouth and put some pants on,” he directed her sarcastically, “we’ll make it there before it closes.”

 

 

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The diner was quiet as Derek held the door open for her before promptly asking for a table for two. He walked alongside her as their host seated them at a booth, returning with their drinks only a minute later. Derek’s hands fiddled with the menu, not bothering to open it as he already knew what he wanted. It’s what he got every time he came here, country fried steak and eggs. Though the handful of times he’d come before, each and every time it had been alone. In fact, it had been a while since he’d eaten a meal with another human being. She sat across from him, her legs criss—crossed on the bench as she bit her lip in deep thought. She studied the menu, trying to decide what she was really hungry for. It took her a moment to decide, finally settling on the diner’s state famous mac and cheese. And as the waiter waltzed away to input their order, Riley gripped her cold glass of Pepsi with both hands upon the table.

The band of her gold ring upon her index finger dinged against the glass each time she allowed her fingers to fidget, unsure of what to say to fill the silence. What did people usually say when they were in Derek Hale’s presence? She knew strangers were intimidated by him, and she didn’t blame them. And so she blurted out the question she’d been thinking about the most. “Did the—did the police ever question you about Peter’s body?”

She didn’t realize that maybe the subject was still touchy, considering it was still freshly embedded into their minds. Derek’s brows rose slightly, pressing his thin lips into a line before shaking his head. “They never found it.” He said back in a small whisper. Despite the vulnerability of being in a public place, with a girl he barely knew . . . He trusted her to an extent. “I buried him in the floorboards of the house.”

His honesty shocked her, her hazel eyes widening at his comment. Running her hands through her sun kissed brunette locks as a way of comforting herself, all she could really do was nod. “And the hunters?” She asked, peeking up at him from beneath her lashes, her eyes curious.

“Argent and I,” Derek summarized, “are at an understanding at the moment.”

Riley nodded again, looking down at the water droplets left by the condensation along the table top. “You trust them?” She wondered.

“I don’t trust anyone.” He assured, the look in his eyes insistent.

She took that as a note, that perhaps he didn’t trust her enough as she did him.

Derek drummed his fingers against the table, a habit Riley noticed could only be brought on by anxiety. Something was bothering him. It was clear to her now as she watched him from across the table, his eyes fixated on the rhythm of his fingers. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice managed to spill from her lips after a few minutes of silence. Derek didn’t respond, but she took it as an invitation. She’d wondered about this the past few weeks, yearning to know what he thought and how he’d handled it. “How do you really feel about your uncle dying?”

His fingers stopped drumming immediately then, looking up to her with confused and timid eyes. “Relieved.” He said without missing a beat. But despite his ability to persuade her, she did not truly believe him. A part of him could sense that, wondering how a girl like her could be that smart. “He killed a lot of people, Riley.” He said in a low voice, looking directly into her eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

Despite his lack of empathy, she agreed with him. “He’s still your family.” She reminded.

Derek’s eyes fell then, straining on the pearl ring on her finger, and the glossy nude finish of her nails. He’d thought about this for a few days, trying to decipher what it was he truly felt when it came to the sudden demise of his only living family member. “You don’t have to say you miss him,” Riley promised, “Just be honest . . . You can talk to me.”

Those five words were something he hadn’t heard in a long while. People never knew him well enough to get this far in to his personal life, but her . . . Riley had a way of making his problems seem minuscule. “I don’t miss him.” He clarified, stammering for the right words to say next, “But, I miss what could’ve been.” Riley settled deeper into her seat, nodding for him to continue. “The ‘What If’,” he elaborated, shaking his head, “If he’d eventually healed from his coma . . . If he’d never killed Laura . . . If he hadn’t of gone on a killing spree—“ He stopped himself before he could say too much. “Everything would be different.” He looked at her firmly. “Laura and I could have started building our pack back up.” He sighed. “We could have made our parents proud.”

That was something he’d never admitted to anyone, barely even himself. If his sister, Laura, was still the Alpha, he strongly believed that they could have rebuilt a name for themselves. That people wouldn’t immediately think of the tragedy when they heard the name Hale. Those were big shoes for him to fill, wanting to still do all of that regardless of being alone. She wanted to tell him his sister would be proud, that she’d wanted the Alpha status to fall on him, but that wasn’t her place to say so. Derek would only believe what seemed possible.

Riley nodded kindly, clearing her throat as she changed the subject. “And what about Kate?”

Her question wasn’t aimed to stir controversy, she just genuinely hoped Derek felt safe enough to talk to someone about the things he's experienced. “You know what she did.” He hinted. “To me . . . To my family.” He shrugged indifferently as he took a sip of his ice cold water. “She got what she deserved.”

Riley couldn’t disagree.

But she could still see the hesitancy in his eyes, like he was still afraid of the woman who’d taken everything away from him. As if speaking about her would leave him in a panic, and so she asked another question to keep him occupied. “Tell me about them?” She asked, her chin balanced in the palm of her hand as she studied him carefully. “About your family.”

It was a question no one had ever dared ask him, especially in the years following their deaths. Hearing her ask caused a ripple of anxiety to claw within his chest. It had been six years now since the fire, raking his brain for any information he felt comfortable sharing. It had been so long now, that he’d feared he’d begun to lose the memories. Scared that if he did not think about them often enough, he’d soon forget the sounds of their voice. “They were normal.” He managed to say first, hoping she'd paint the same picture he had. “Aside from the claws and the fangs . . . We were normal.” He shrugged lightly, unsure of how else to put it. He'd grown up like every other kid, the only difference was that his mother, Talia, was a shape—shifting Alpha.

“Not all of you were natural born wolves.” Riley remembered having heard Chris say that a few weeks back.

Derek nodded, “My immediate family was. My mother, father, sister’s and Peter.” He pulled his hands from off the top of the table into his lap, not wanting Riley to see his hands ravel together tightly as he spoke. “But my younger cousins, my father’s sister and husband, they were human. They were innocent.” He recollected briefly, fighting off the urge to wish he could retract the moment he’d agreed to speak about what was once his family.

Riley could see the devastating look gather within his eyes, as if he were reliving their deaths all over again. She recognized the Iook so easily, because it was the same expression she often wore too. Remembering the moment so clearly the night she’d found her mothers body. Recalling the ignored phone calls she’d sent her father, needing him then more than ever. “Tell me a memory.” Riley probed further, wishing to see his smile return to his cheeks. “A happy one.”

She hoped it would lift her mood as well, quickly able to flip her mind like a switch when she wished to not revel in the memory of her family either. But maybe Derek couldn’t be like that. He couldn’t switch the depression on and off like Riley could. He took her request mindfully as he raked his brain for a memory that did not leave his heart aching. He was silent for a moment as the waitress set their food down before them, both leaving it untouched for the time being. “My mom used to make us breakfast every morning.” He recalled as he unraveled his silverware from his rolled up napkin silently. “Fresh juice from the orange tree in our backyard . . . “ He sighed as he began cutting a piece of his steak into a bite sized amount, “She knew I was the only one who liked the pulp, so she’d always put extra in my glass.” He paused for a moment to take a bite of his dinner, and Riley followed his lead as she placed her napkin over her lap.

Swirling her spoon back and forth over her bowl of mac and cheese, she waited patiently for him to swallow so he could continue. “My little sister, Cora,” he smiled tenderly, “would always make us homemade trinkets for Christmas. She was extremely handy at her age.” So easily he could remember the soft, babies cheeks of Cora Hale. Her chin would dimple just like their fathers every time she grinned. “One year she made me a wooden trunk,” He relayed the memory, “she even hand painted a triskelion on the lid.”

His lips were curved in a way that Riley didn’t see too often. She remembered the symbol he spoke of, the three Celtic swirls connected at each point. “Just like your tattoo.”

Derek adjusted his gaze to look to her appreciatively, but nodded in return. “And you?” He asked, watching her lips as they pouted around a spoonful of her dinner. She chewed slowly and deliberately, trying to remember a time that constituted as a happy memory.

Sifting back through the years, she remembered one that always came to mind when she wished to relive the good times. “When I was fifteen my dad took me to get my permit,” Riley murmured, “despite failing the test, he took me to the car lot where he worked and asked me which car was my favorite.” Riley adjusted herself in her seat, pulling one knee up to her chest as her eyes veered off into the distance. “I chose a two—thousand and six Aston Martin.” He snorted. “Literally my dream car when I was fourteen. He—he let me take it for a joy ride.”

Riley remembered the way her foot had stomped on the gas pedal. The open windows filtering in the warm breeze of that San Diego afternoon. Derek had stopped eating for a moment to watch her, drifting off into her own mind as if it were a safe place to travel through. Intrigued by that idea, wishing he could pry each and every thought from that pretty little head of hers. “Anyway,” she finally buzzed as she was brought back to the present. “I crashed it.”

“You—you crashed it?” Derek asked in disbelief.

She nodded with a tight shrug. “I drove it into a Stop sign.”

And then Derek laughed, so light and burly and full of life. His lips spread over his teeth, his eyes crinkling in their corners as his eyes glimmered. A chuckle raked through his body so hard, he gripped the edge of the table for support. Riley found his outburst infectious, hiding her smile behind her enclosed fist. And it wasn’t until someone approached their table that his laughter suddenly stopped. “A pleasant surprise seeing you here.” A deep and familiar voice muttered. Riley looked up to see a man remove his leather gloves before placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder. The hand at her mouth rose to shield her eyes, looking down at her plate of food as Chris Argent grinned at their table side. They’d been too preoccupied with one another to notice the Hunter and his friends gather at the bar on the opposite side of the dining hall.

The muscles in Derek’s shoulders tensed as Chris patted him on the back. It was meant to look like a kind gesture to any witnesses looking, but Derek knew better. He knew it was a warning by the wild and accusing look within the Argent’s eyes. “Can’t say I agree.” Derek replied, reaching for his glass of water, taking a sip to quench his sudden dry mouth.

He could see the hunters gaze suddenly shift to Riley, remembering the best friend of his daughters, a questionable look of an accusatory gleam gathering in his stare. Chris straightened his posture then, removing his hand from Derek’s back as he kept his eyes firmly planted on the girl he sat with. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” He wondered, though his tone suggested that perhaps it were a good thing he was. He thought Riley to be smarter than that, given how highly Allison had spoken of her. But to be situated across from a heathen like Derek Hale, he had to second guess his daughters word. And from the intensity from their silence, he knew he was. The Argent sighed, patting Derek on the back once more, “Remember our agreement.” He reminded before backtracking to his buddies back at the bar.

Once Riley was sure he was gone, she lowered her hand with a confused look. “What agreement?” She asked, raising her brow as she watched Derek sift into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet, before tossing two twenties on the table between them. From what she could see, there was a whole hell of a lot more money stashed away inside the crease of his expensive, leather wallet.

Which made her wonder, if he had money, why did he ask to stay the night at her house?

Truthfully, Derek could have easily boughten the whole five—star hotel a few miles down town with all the money he had stowed away, but he’d felt compelled to see her. Not having done so since the night of her formal dance two weeks ago, perhaps it was his excuse to make sure she was still okay. Neither of them brought up that fact as Derek began to shuffle from the booth, “We should go.” He declared as Riley took a final bite of her dinner before following after him to his Camaro.

They didn’t speak the entire way back to Riley’s, using this time to conjure up her own theories in regards to the mysterious Derek Hale. If he had money, why hadn’t he invested in another house? Or an apartment? Literally anything other than living in the run down ruins of his old, burned down house. Was he afraid to move on? Afraid to live when he was still so clearly surrounded by death? Had Derek even fully grieved his losses? By the way he seemed to latch onto the past, she figured he was still dealing with the unresolved trauma. Not that she could blame him, because she too, found it difficult to move on with her life when she knew not everyone she once loved would move on with theirs. Maybe thats why they both found each others company so easy to be around, because it were as if they knew the same struggle the other faced.

Once he’d parked in an open space inside her complex, he followed her up the stairs and back into her studio apartment. It was he who locked the door behind them, awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot at the front of her apartment. He watched as Riley retrieved the blankets she’d left on the counter, strolling back to the empty space of floor beside her bed. She spread out a thick comforter out over the carpet, creating a barrier between Derek’s soon to be sleeping frame and her hard floor. “I know it’s not much—“

“It’s enough.” Derek interrupted, a grateful expression laced over his features. He slipped off his shoes as he left them by the front door, kneeling upon his make shift bed before finally flipping over onto his back. His hands rose to cradle the back of his head, fidgeting for a few moments before he could find a comfortable position. Riley crawled into her own bed a few feet from him, comfortable and quiet as she watched him settle.

For a moment, she couldn’t help but think that maybe Derek had come here with a very different intention. Was she that naive to think so?

“Derek?” She asked as she shut off her bedside lamp, basking them in complete darkness. “I forgot one more thing.” Riley’s hand clasped around the spare pillow on her bed quickly, raising it high above her head before thrusting it down against his chest with a soft thwack.

“Ow!” He complained in a voice meant to mock her.

But he accepted her offering as a peaceful bargaining, knowing that even though the world around them may have felt chaotic at times, tonight was a reminder that it didn’t always have to be that way. The supernatural world was a dangerous place, but it didn’t have to be a world that Riley feared. It had it’s good moments, but even as inexperienced as Riley was when it came to the supernatural world, she could guess that something worse always lurked around the corner.


	12. Night Terror

_Riley was running—sprinting--from something she was too terrified to see. Her legs caved with each step, her bare feet barely brushing against the forest floor before bounding into another leap. She couldn’t see, her eyes blinded by the full moon overhead as she narrowly dodged one tree after another. The haste filled beat of her own heart fueled her adrenaline, her instincts flooding with the desire to hide. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, a chill splitting its way down her spine as if her body could feel whatever chased her grow closer. It didn’t seem to matter how fast she ran, because her legs could only move so fast. They could only carry her so far. And as her pace began to slow, her breathing labored and heavy, Riley braced herself against the roughened trunk of a nearby tree, deep inhales of air causing her shoulders to shudder._

_She flattened herself against it’s bark, hoping it would somehow swallow her whole._

_Her body remained basked within the dark shadows of the woods, her eyes snaking from side to side as the sensation of not quite being alone began to engulf her. And as that feeling sunk in, she held her breath. It fell quiet around her, the sounds of nearby crickets chirping kept her focused, raising her hands as she placed her palms over her quivering lips._

_Riley eased herself into a more manageable state of mind, trying to ensure she remained silent as she inched her head over her shoulder to see if who was trailing her had finally caught up. Peeking from behind the tree, keeping herself as still and invisible as she could, she watched as not one, not two, but three bodies emerged from the trail that she’d just sprinted from. Their faces were blurred by the darkness, but their eyes were a pigmented shade of a glowing gold._

_One of the three colors that identified a Werewolf._

_At that, she whirled back around to shift herself out of sight, her breathing hitched and labored. A harsh heat gathered within her eyes, too entirely terrified to move. It was as if she could feel the ground beneath her concave, the sinking feeling of being hunted gathering in her bones. Riley felt her limbs lock into place then, tilting her head back over her shoulder to see if maybe the wolves had moved on. A shadowed figure blocked her view, having stalked her like an animal would it’s prey. Her eyes traveled up the length of it’s body, determining it was a man by the build of muscle wrapped around his lean frame. And when her eyes met his, they were not yellow like the others. They were a ravenous shade of crimson red. They glowed eerily as they peered back at her, until an unnerving wail clawed up Riley’s throat._

_Her body pivoted in preparation to run, but the wolf lurking in her shadow ensured she did not budge. It’s firm and clawed hand gripped the top of her shoulder, immobilizing her just in time to turn her back to face him, eyes vengeful and teeth bared as the Werewolf opened it’s mouth as wide as it could go and leaned in as if it were going to bite her._

 

 

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Riley felt her legs kick out as she woke with a slight jump, sitting straight up upon her bed with wild and fearful eyes. Her panting seemed to subside once she realized she was safe. Once the four familiar walls of her apartment replaced the dense and dark woods she’d only dreamed about. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, a clear indication that her body had reacted accordingly to the nightmare. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck, feeling overwhelmingly hot despite always having her apartment set at seventy—six degree’s. Riley ran a rigid hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face as a migraine spilled over into the back of her skull. She hadn’t had one in a while, not since having to decide which casket to bury her mother in. It was rare for her to develop aches and pains that constituted as a headache even, but ever since the recent passing of her mom, they seemed to come every so often.

A yawn stretched over her lips, her nose suddenly flaring at the undeniable smell of coffee. Riley glanced to her side where she’d last seen Derek sleeping. The sheets she’d provided were neatly folded at the foot of her bed, the pillow she’d used to hit him balanced on top. “Morning.” A soft voice murmured, flinching slightly as a figure rounded the corner from her kitchen with two mugs in their hand. Derek had always been a morning person, having woken up nearly a half hour ago.

He’d thought about leaving. Sneaking out before she could wake up, it felt like a very normal Derek thing to do, but for some reason he couldn’t will himself to leave. Perhaps it was a part of him that figured she deserved better than that . . . Or maybe it had to do with her restless tossing and turning throughout the night that prompted him to stay. He’d watched her for countless minutes as her lips moved in her sleep, her limbs twitching, barely speaking broken words that could make any sense.

Riley looked to Derek with a confused glance, almost as if she were surprised he hadn’t snuck out either. Her cold hands snaked around the mug he offered her, holding it closely to her chest as her frame began to finally cool down. “What time is it?” Riley asked groggily once Derek took a seat a few spaces away from her on the edge of her bed. And as the headache pulsed thickly within her head, she had the audacity to ask with an even more confused expression, “What day is it?”

She couldn’t see him smile beside her, keeping her own eyes locked on the steam emanating from the coffee between her hands. “It’s eight a.m.,” he relayed as he took a careful sip from his mug. “And it’s Sunday.”

Riley frowned, “I should probably go back to sleep.” She sarcastically murmured. “My beauty regime requires at least eleven hours of sleep on the weekends, to rewire my brain for the upcoming week.” Derek rose a furrowed and dense brow, questioning her silently. _“What?”_ She quipped, “I read an article about it on Buzzfeed once.”

It was her turn to laugh, because she realized now just how ridiculous that sounded to someone who did not understand the inner workings of her head. Rest helped her mind reprogram itself. Like cleaning out a dusty old junk drawer at the end of each week. And with all the awful things she kept locked up inside her brain, it was necessary to escape from them every now and again. 

Side glancing him as she blew over the top layer of her coffee, cooling it enough so that she could drink it, she saw him studying her with kind eyes. Riley immediately looked away, unsure of what could possibly be flowing through that head of his. Maybe he was seeing just how much of a freak she truly was. But unbeknownst to her, he was skimming his eyes over her features, tired and worn down, but somehow still glowing even this early in the morning. It left him at a loss for words, so instead he too looked away.

They shifted into silence, both feeling the uncomfortable haze that lingered between them because of it. “So . . . “ Riley hummed around another sip of coffee. “Got any exciting plans for the day?” Her attempt at making small talk was feeble and she felt the embarrassment creep into her cheeks the moment the words left her mouth. Was she expecting him to run along and do Alpha errands? 

“Not much.” He responded truthfully, his sock—clad feet tapping against the carpet discreetly. “ _You?”_

Clearing her throat, shaking her head as she set her now empty mug on the ground beside her bed. “Just have to work on my French paper due tomorrow.” It sounded like a cue that maybe he should go, but thats not how she’d intended it to sound in the slightest.

Unsure of if this small conclusion solidified their plans for the day or not, Riley remained unsure of what to talk about. Derek wanted to bring up the reasoning for her restlessness, to know what kind of things she saw behind her eyes while she slept, but it felt too invasive to ask. And so he stayed silent. He remembered something then, swallowing the coffee he’d left idling in his mouth as he nodded to her. “You’re phone was going off earlier.” He implied.

Her ringtone had initially been what had woken him up in the first place, as where she’d slept right through it.

With a puzzled expression, Riley reached for her phone situated on the edge of her bed. “It’s just Stiles.” She shrugged, skimming through the four missed calls and voicemail. She skimmed through his text messages, indicating that she should call him as soon as possible.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked, able to feel the anxiety begin to coil inside her gut.

Riley pressed her lips into a thin line as she played the voicemail Stiles had left her, placing it on speaker phone for the both of them to hear. _“Riley!”_ A frantic and breathless teenaged boy belted through the other line. _“I know you’re probably sleeping right now, but I need you to wake up, okay? I need you to wake up right now and call me back! Something happened, okay?”_ He stammered, clearly upset as he rambled on in typical Stiles fashion. _“Something happened to Lydia!”_ At that statement, Riley perked, sitting up straighter as she glanced to Derek with panic filled eyes. _“She’s gone! She disappeared from her Hospital room last night and no ones seen her and I really need you to answer your phone! My dads gathering a search party, but Scott—Scott’s going to try and gather her scent! Please, Ry!”_ Stiles begged. _“Just call me back!”_

The voice mail ended then and Derek could hear her heart pulse hastily within her chest.

Lydia Martin had still been kept in the Hospital under close evaluation after she’d had some form of allergic reaction from the bite Peter had given her. She hadn’t turned like expected, but she seemed to have been getting better. “We need to go.” Riley stumbled from her bed as she rummaged for a matching pair of shoes quickly. “We need to go now!”

“Hey,” Derek rose to his own two feet, his hand encircling around her forearm to keep her from anxiously pacing for her other shoe. “Calm down, alright? We’ll find her.”

She seemed to trust him when he said it, though her pace did not slow. Riley gathered her things before leading the way out to the front door, locking it with fumbling fingers before all but running down the flight of stairs. Derek was quick to trail behind her as she headed for his parked car and without even asking, got inside the passenger seat. But truth be told, she hadn’t had to ask for his help, because he would have dropped all of his plans in a second if she needed him to.

He couldn’t explain why he’d do that for her, because there hadn’t been anyone worthy of his time in a long while.

She’d gotten ahold of Stiles as they got in the car, a desperate thirty second long conversation in which he explained they were still at the Hospital gathering information and to meet them there. Derek didn’t need directions, having known the town of Beacon Hills like the back of his hand since he was young. He'd been born and raised here. He knew the secrets this town kept better than it’s longest surviving towns folk. The citizens of Beacon Hills were blind to the kind of things that happened right beneath their noses.

 _Just like Lydia Martin’s disappearance_ , from Derek’s assumption. He was already so entirely positive that it had some sort of supernatural cause . . . Because he’d be more worried if it didn’t. This town thrived on the unexplainable happenings that disrupted the normal lives of it’s population. He’d seen cases like this way too many times, and from his experience, he knew they needed to find Lydia before something else did.

“Do you think someone took her?” Riley asked as she chewed on the nail of her thumb viciously. 

She was still radiating a heavy dose of anxiety as she sat beside him in his Camaro. “I don’t think so.” Derek confirmed with as much honesty as he could expel. He gripped the steering wheel just a tad harder as he merged onto a heavy traffic fueled street. The more he raked his brain, the less he was able to come up with a justifiable answer.

“She’s not—you don’t think she finally turned, do you?” She asked with a quieter voice.

But he shook his head before she could even finish talking. From his experience, the bite typically always ended one of two ways . . . You either turn or it kills you. Lydia Martin did neither, but thinking of those options caused a distant memory from years ago to tug at his eyes. They stung as they began to well, but he blinked back the wetness with a squared jaw. It was a memory he never spoke nor tried to think about. Even after all this time. He wanted to give her an answer that would ease her panicked state of mind, but he could not determine a reason for the red—heads sudden disappearance. “We’ll find her.” Derek repeated instead, refusing to elaborate on whether or not it would be dead or alive.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Hospital, parking at the furthest end of the building where a powder blue Jeep idled. As they grew closer to a spot, she could see Scott and Stiles perched at the front of the car, in a deep conversation of sorts until the rev of Derek’s engine caught their attention. Derek did not park his Camaro, but left it running in the center of the lot as Scott and Stiles approached Riley’s open window. It was Stiles who shot her a confused look as he eyed the wolf situated behind the wheel. “I didn't know you were bringing him.” He said questionably as he pointed in Derek’s direction.

“I figured you could use some help.” Derek defended himself, able to easily determine the distane Stiles held in regards to the Alpha. Perhaps there was a bit of jealousy too, swimming behind those whiskey colored eyes narrowed at Riley now.

Scott could sense it too, patting his best friend on the back to ease him. “He’s right. He’s a lot better at tracking than I am.” Scott held up his arm as he grasped a piece of blue material within his palm. “This was Lydia’s Hospital gown.” He confirmed, nodding to Derek firmly as the Alpha flared his nostrils in return. A breeze carried the scent clinging to Lydia’s clothes into the cab of his car. It was the overpowering stench of sterile Hospital rooms and kiwi, presumably from the soap Lydia had used to wash her face.

“Got it.” Derek nodded once he’d locked it into his memory.

“Wait,” Riley finally gathered, “If that’s her Hospital gown then what was she wearing when she left?”

Her brow furrowed as she looked up to Scott and Stiles through the passenger side window. The two boys shared an awkward glance before the freckle--faced kid scratched the back of his head. “Uhhhh—“ He fumbled for words, _“—Nothing.”_ “Riley dropped her gaze as she fiddled with the pearl ring on her index finger. “My dads got an APB out on her, but his deputies don't have the kind of sense you guys got.” He pointed between Derek and Scott expectantly. “Which means we have a better chance of finding her first.”

“Unless the hunters do.” Derek spoke up. “Once they hear about her missing, I’m sure Argent will send his team out to find her.”

“What would they want with her?” Scott wondered.

“A girl who was recently bitten by an Alpha and somehow evaded turning might be something they’re interested in.” Derek elaborated.

Riley shook her head. “She’s Allison’s friend,” she recalled, “They won’t kill her.”

“I hope you’re right.” Derek replied. He leaned forward then to get a better look at Scott, “We’ll cover more ground if we split up. We’ll take the west side of town,” he nodded to Riley in his passenger seat, “You two take the east.” Stiles frowned at seeing Riley pair up with him, turning his back reluctantly to head back to his Jeep. “We’ll call you if we find anything.”

 

 

 

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Derek was silent as they drove throughout the west side of Beacon Hills. His window was rolled down, inclining his head every so often toward it as he allowed his senses to filter in any lingering scent that Lydia Martin may have left behind. She could have been anywhere by now and Riley hadn’t been half as worried until Derek mentioned that the hunters may be on her trail too. Would Chris Argent really go as far as to kill his daughters best friend? It was hard for her to answer that, only because she didn’t know Argent as well as Derek did.

Riley hadn't seen Allison in a week or so either, mostly because it was against her fathers wishes. Ever since Kate was killed, Chris had gone to extreme lengths to keep his daughter safe. He’d began to monitor her every move, call, text and friend. Riley wouldn’t be surprised if come Monday, Allison told her that she couldn't be friends with her either . . . Considering her father had seen her eating dinner with the enemy. Supernatural politics sucked in Riley’s opinion. Why did the hunters go to such extreme lengths to defend themselves against the good guys? Sure there were people like Peter who had ruined the Werewolf reputation, but Derek and Scott were nothing like him. They never would be. Riley wondered now if she were an enemy too? Would Chris hesitate to put a bullet in the head of someone like her for just being associated with wolves? She didn’t think so, but a part of her couldn’t be sure.

Derek had the radio on low, turned to an alternative rock station as it sifted through the speakers at a low volume. Riley spoke over it, deciding to ask a question she’d been thinking about now for two weeks. “Why do you think she didn't turn?” She asked, keeping her eyes focused on her fingers as she twisted her ring back and forth numbly.

This was a question he'd been dreading, mostly because he didn’t have an honest answer. “I don’t know.” He said, not bothering to elaborate. Derek wasn’t a man of many words.  _Perhaps she was immune to the bite_ , Derek theorized to himself. He hadn’t seen it before, nor had he heard myths concerning that idea. His mother would have known if something like this were possible. And as he thought about it, the more he seemed to connect Lydia’s case to someone elses. Someone else who was recently bitten without having shown any signs of transitioning.

Derek flared his nostrils again, inhaling the passing breeze outside the open window of his car as he suddenly made a left turn. He’d followed Lydia’s scent for miles now as it suddenly veered off into the preservation. He drove carefully through the unmarked road through the woods, having a hunch as to where it was headed. He wondered how Lydia had got so far in such a well populated part of town. Especially given the fact that she was naked. Someone had to have seen her . . . And he was hoping it wasn’t the hunters.

He took a steady breath as he eased his Camaro through the break of woods up ahead, parking his car in front of the Hale house with a quick flick of his wrist. Riley sat uncomfortably still in the passenger side seat beside him, her eyes transfixed on the worn down home through the open window of her door. “Her scent stops here?” She asked, turning to look at Derek with a slight raise of her brow.

He did not answer, but swiftly extracted himself from the drivers seat as Riley followed his lead.

This was the first time she’d been back since that night, just a day shy of two weeks. It held an eeriness she couldn't quite describe, staying close on Derek’s heels as he trudged up the slight incline of the front yard. The front window of the house was shattered, her mind taking her back to the memory of Peter Hale hurling Scott McCall through it’s glass. Her skin puckered at the memory, her hands curling into fists involuntarily at the thought. The Hale house held a darkness much more hollow than it had before. The death toll on this property had risen, given Kate and Peter’s demise.

Derek walked a few paces ahead, standing at the foot of the porch steps as Riley felt frozen in place. Her eyes raked over the home in it’s entirety, something just short of fear gathering in her lungs, hindering her breaths. Being here reminded her of the nightmare she’d had the night before, with the three Beta’s and Alpha stalking her through the woods. It immobilized her, keeping Riley’s limbs locked in a stance that felt painful to hold. “Why would she come here?” Riley wondered, feeling the cluster of impatience swell inside her lungs.

Derek looked back at her over his leather jacket clad shoulder. “Instinct, maybe?” He felt the same darkness Riley did, sensing it come in waves as it seeped from the walls of his family home. There was nothing good about this place anymore. The bad things that happened here far outweighed the good. “She may not have changed,” Derek hinted, “But a bite from an Alpha to a targeted Beta can have a psychological connection. Some people can feel drawn toward the ones who bit them.”

“Scott didn’t.” Riley added as she joined him at his side before the porch.

Derek agreed with a slight nod of his head. “Scott’s smart.”

Riley pursed her lips as she wrung her hands together. “Lydia’s got a four—point—nine GPA.”

Derek’s eyes widened slightly to show mock surprise as Riley defended her friend. “Scott’s a leader,” he corrected himself, “not a follower. I wouldn’t be shocked to hear that Lydia traveled all this way because she felt drawn to Peter.” He inclined his head to the front door, reminding her that he'd buried his uncle under the floorboards of the house. “Her trails cold.” He said after a second of focusing his senses on the scents surrounding them. “She’s not here anymore.”

Riley’s eyes scanned the perimeter of the house, wide and fearful as if she were afraid Lydia was lurking. Her dream still had her on edge, still of if the werewolves in her dreams were somehow the people she knew in real life. She’d thought the red eyed monster in her nightmare had been Peter, but with him dead and a new Alpha in charge, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was Derek’s blurred features behind those ravenous eyes.

“You okay?” Derek asked as they began a slow track back to the car. He could sense a form of conflict budding inside her head, as if she were at war with her own thoughts. But the fear that emanated from her suggested that something else still seemed to bother her.

Riley nodded, but she did not look at him. “Just tired.”

But it was more than just being tired . . . It was being terrified. It was feeling as if the world was closing in on you and all you could do was watch it corner you helplessly. She was still fairly new to all of this, but with even the small amount of knowledge she had, she could sense that there was always something worse.

Derek understood that ‘being tired’ was just an excuse to most people, but it felt so genuine coming from her mouth. He remembered her fighting off her dreams in her sleep earlier that morning. Her face contorted into something he recognized as terror. Her limbs flexing with each twitch. They approached the Camaro in silence then, and as they both paused to look back at the house before getting in, Derek finally spoke. “I use to get night—terrors.” 

He kept his gaze strained on the black soot covering the once white walls. Riley looked to him expectantly, wondering what caused him to be so open about it now. Derek felt the vulnerability that came with confessing something like that, but he’d hoped sharing his experience would help her overcome hers. “After the fire,” he confessed, “everyday for almost two years.” Unsure of why he trusted her with this information, he struggled for a second to find the right words to explain. “Sometimes I'd be in the basement with them as they burned.” He shuddered ever so slightly at the memory, barely more than what Riley would notice. “Sometimes I’d be the one striking the match.”

It was how his mind processed his guilt, having blamed himself for their deaths even to this day.

This wasn’t something he’d ever shared with anyone, and he realized she could take this information and do what she wanted with it. Perhaps it wasn’t just about helping her feel safer, but helping him relieve the stress that came along with carrying that burden for so many years. Telling her about his past experience with nightmares made her think it was a normal reaction to have after something traumatic. And in respect of his candor, she too revealed the terrors she saw when she fell asleep. Riley left out the one from the night before, but explained the ones she’s had in the past. “I get them of my mom.” She breathed once they both situated themselves within the cab of his car. “After she died.” Derek frowned, because he'd always wondered why she’d lived alone. Why she never spoke about her family either, and this was why. “I was the one who found her body.”

They both sat in silence, parked in the tree—line of the old Hale house.

“How’d it happen?” He asked in a small voice, both avoiding eye contact with one another.

He tried to sound sympathetic, while also curbing his interest. “She was murdered.” Riley flinched at the memory of her mother, draped over her bed with her blood soaked sheets. “I don’t remember a lot of it,” she confessed, “I think i kind of— _I don’t know_ —blacked out.” Parts of that night felt hazed, as if she couldn’t piece them together well enough to fit the story.

 Derek nodded quietly to himself. “It’s called repressed memory.” He recalled having read about it in a psyche text book in high school. “Sometimes our mind shuts out certain details following a traumatic event.” He cleared his throat as he toyed with the keys within his hands. “It happens to humans all the time,” he relayed, “but for someone supernatural, someone like me . . . Because of our heightened senses it’s hard to shut out the memory. It’s hard not to remember the smell or the sounds.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer, both consumed by not only their own ache of past memories, but now each others. Riley felt compelled to reach her hand out, surprised by her own reaction as she balanced her palm atop of Derek’s knuckles. His skin was warm, his fingers rigid. At the touch, Derek seemed to hold his breath for a moment, unable to comprehend the amount of sympathy she had for him, despite her own demons to swallow. Her hand was soft compared to his, cold and full of empathy as she ran her thumb along his pinky. He hadn’t been touched like this in years, not since before Kate Argent had lured him in. 

Riley was confused by his reaction now, seeing the slight furrow of his brow and the hardening of his jaw. Did this make him uncomfortable? She figured it must have, and so she pulled her hand away and placed it back into a fist within her lap. Once she retracted her hand, Derek placed his keys into the ignition, revved the engine and slipped back into the unmarked road weaving through the woods and back into town.

 

 

 

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They spent the next few hours following a dead end scent, scouring the streets of Beacon Hills for a naked teenage red—head, but came up with nothing. And it wasn’t until the later hours of the afternoon when Scott McCall texted Derek to check in, informing him that Stiles and his father had found Lydia on the outskirts of town. She was cold, dehydrated and confused. But she was alive and that was all that really mattered. They’d found her before the hunters had, or before something else could have.

They returned to the hospital to meet the boys, having both been silent the whole drive there.

Something weird had transpired between them earlier that day, unsure of how to deal with being so vulnerable and open to someone they both barely knew. But Riley found it easier to breathe now, because the horrors of her mind were not big enough to weigh her down anymore. It was as if sharing that small detail with Derek had lightened the load, and she was able to carry it without stumbling anymore.

Stiles and Scott were situated inside the Jeep as they pulled into the parking lot of the Hospital. It was rounding just past seven p.m. now, the sun having set almost an hour and a half ago. Both Riley and Derek got out of the car, going to stand at the open drivers side window where Stiles sat. “Is she okay?” Riley asked as she stood at Derek’s side, facing Stiles with a hopeful expression.

“They think so.” Scott chimed in from the passenger side. “My mom did a full psychological evaluation and she seemed cognoscente enough.”

Stiles agreed with a quick nod of his head. “She didn’t remember why she wondered out into the woods though.” He remembered her stumbling into the clearing where his father aided in a murder investigation. He remembered how scared she looked, how lost and frazzled she seemed. “I got to see her boobs though!” He finally announced with a click of his tongue and wink of his eye in Riley’s direction.

Her concerned expression faded to one of annoyance, smacking his shoulder a bit harder than he’d expected as a warning to not objectify Lydia that way. It was Scott who ignored him, speaking up about a possible issue that had now seemed to present itself. “We think she may have had something to do with a grave robbery that happened early this morning.” Scott kept on the subject with a knowing glance her way. “And then a few hours ago they were transporting a heart attack victim to the Hospital and . . . “ He and Stiles shared an uncertain look, “something— _someone_ —“ he corrected, “got into the back and killed the driver, patient and EMT.”

Riley absorbed his words with careful understanding, trying to picture what the crime scene must have looked like. She reverted back to the time when she didn’t know about the supernatural, just over a two months ago, and how she never would have presumed an attack like that to be a creature of some sort. “You think she did it.” She stated back, crossing her arms against her chest with an accusatory eye.

“It can’t be a coincidence.” Derek stated from beside her with a small shrug of his shoulder. “Lydia goes missing and suddenly turns up after two incidents?”

Stiles drummed his figures against the steering wheel, deep in thought as he conjured up an explanation. “But she never turned.” He reminded them, turning to glance between Scott and Derek. “She’s not like you guys.”

Riley felt a chill sweep past them, subconsciously shifting a step closer toward Derek as he radiated an inviting heat. “Maybe not a werewolf,” he explained through dark—stubbled cheeks, “but something.” Derek felt Riley’s shoulder brush against his, “Sometimes the shape you take can reflect the person that you are.”

Riley thought about that, wondering what that could mean in regards to her friend. What other kinds of creatures could manifest from the pits of a persons soul? “Great.” Scott sighed, taking in a lungful of air as he shook his head. “So now we have to keep an eye on both Lydia and Jackson.”

Riley’s brow quirked, her head tilting to the side in confusion. “Why Jackson?”

Scott paused, looking to Derek as he shot him a warning infused glare from behind Riley’s back. “You didn’t tell her?” Stiles prompted, his eyes wide and defensive.

At that, Riley swiveled her head to look up at Derek. He kept his eyes firmly planted on Scott as if to threaten him for speaking out of line. “Tell me what?” A questioning expression lingered over her features, her plump lips creasing into a frown when he did not immediately answer. And as she read his expression, avoiding meeting her eyes with his own, she looked back to Scott and Stiles idling inside the cab of the Jeep for answers.

They both hesitated, feeling the threat behind Derek’s narrowed green eyes. But even worse, keeping the truth from Riley was something to fear even more. After the pact they’d made to keep no secrets from one another, they could see the heat gathering in her cheeks. Stiles twined his fingers together uncomfortably, deciding to take the load off of Scott’s explanation instead. “A few days after what happened at the Hale house,” he recalled timidly, clearing his throat, “Jackson asked Derek for the bite.”

A thick and dense cloud of tension seemed to crowd between the four of them, able to identify the moment she understood, because the curious gleam within her eyes suddenly faded into disbelief. “It’s getting late,” Derek interrupted, “You should all go home.” He turned then before Riley could speak, because he knew what she would say. He knew that she’d accuse him of giving power to a person undeserving of it. Riley followed him back to the Camaro, seeking shelter inside from the cold night air as he peeled out of the parking lot and back toward her apartment.

He could feel her eyes shift toward him every few moments, their day of vulnerability and trust now dissolved due to two teenaged boys big mouths. Would this change the budding and awkward friendship they had been maintaining? Would his decision to give Jackson Whittemore what he wanted cause her to rethink her decision to ever allow Derek to be considered a friend?

The whole ride back to her house, all she could think about was the mistake he’d made. She couldn’t grasp the idea behind what he must have been thinking, or what Derek could have ever seen in Jackson. Was he hoping he’d have another Beta at his side? She couldn’t fathom that were the case, because she knew Jackson would never answer to Derek Hale . . . Alpha or not.

He parked his Camaro in the same spot he had the night prior, both of them heading up to her apartment in silence. Riley suspected he’d need another place to crash tonight, and it wasn’t until they reached the top story of the stairs, both idling before her door that she turned to face him. “Can I ask you something?” She questioned blatantly. He nodded, his hand still firmly grasping the railing beside him. “You told me that only one of two things happen when an Alpha bites someone . . .  You either change or you die.“ 

She trailed off, keeping her gaze locked on the popped button of Derek’s henley, unable to meet his eyes. “Is that suppose to be a question?” His dense brow furrowed at the bridge of his nose.

Riley shook her head, shuffling her apartment keys within her hands as she tried to form the words she wanted to ask. It was then that she found the courage to look up at him, his eyes kind in comparison to hers. “When you bit Jackson,” she finally murmured, “you were hoping he’d die.” That also wasn't a question, but more of an accusation.

He seemed wary of her words, until they finally sunk in.

Derek’s lips parted, wanting to deny her theory, but he found that his throat swelled. He couldn’t lie to her. His hand gripped the railing even harder, feeling a wave of heat ghost along his spine. And when Riley seemed to gather the truth within the lack of his response, she felt her eyes well with fresh tears. They stung her eyes, but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep them from brimming over. As much she hated Jackson, she couldn’t imagine ever going to such lengths. She did not say anything in return, but he’d wished she had. Because perhaps her condemning him for doing so would have been better than her turning her back on him, opening her apartment door and closing it promptly behind herself. He could sense her disappointment in him even through the door separating them. And for some reason, it felt as if he could handle anyone else being angry with him but her. Especially not her.

Derek Hale shuffled on her doorstep for a moment longer, unsure if he was capable of leaving without trying to defend his actions. But even still, he could not form a word impactful enough to express why he’d done it. And so instead, he let a sigh escape his thinly pressed lips, his jaw hardening as he turned back around to descend the stairs. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time gathered in his chest, a feeling that baffled him. _It was regret._

Regret for biting Jackson? Or regret for letting Riley see his true colors?


	13. Cathartic

_Riley felt her toes curl beneath her feet, embedding themselves into the grass below. The lacrosse field was still wet from the early morning dew, a breeze passing by that was so frigid, her teeth began to chatter. Riley appraised the lacrosse field with curious eyes, her breaths slipping from her lips like iridescent clouds. She wanted to move, to seek shelter from the bitter cold, but found that her legs would not buckle from their spot._

_She felt stranded._

_Narrowing her eyes passed the tree—line in the distance, she could make out something bustling about among the stumps towering over the field. She wanted to branch forward and seek out what it was that made all of the commotion, but her limbs locked into place as a menacing hiss echoed in the wind._

_It caused a shiver to roll up her spine, her skin peppering with goosebumps. What kind of creature could make such a hollow noise?_

_There was movement in the tree's again, her eyes refocusing as something bound from its depths and straight for her. At first, it sprint for her on two legs, leaping with an unsurpassable amount of speed. Its skin was metallic, the early morning sun beaming off the blue—ish, green hue of it’s scales._

_It’s tail swung back and forth behind it, as if to propel it into motion._

_But it was it’s eyes, cut into yellow slits as it lurched forward onto it’s hands then, collecting enough momentum to sprint on all fours. The hiss sounded again, unable to feel the muscles that idled beneath her own skin. It was like being paralyzed by the fear, bracing herself for the creatures impact as it dived for her._

The dream ended before the creatures nails could make contact with her skin, finding that the fear circulating within the pit of her stomach lingered long after the nightmare had. Riley dressed herself mechanically for school, rushing to collect her things before she missed the morning bus. The ride to Beacon Hills High was a blur, still feeling overwhelmingly drowsy from her restless night of sleep. The past two weeks hadn’t been kind to her, finding it increasingly hard to function on frozen pizza rolls and four hours of sleep a night.

As she made her way to her first hour class, she couldn't help but still feel spooked by the nightmare replaying inside her head. She hadn’t had one feel so real before, on edge due to the realness it had brought on. As she took her seat in AP French, she tried to decipher what it was that had barreled toward her. It had been lithe and quick, bi—pedaled and fueled by some kind of anger. It’s hiss had reminded her of that of a snake, but the sounds it made did not match what she expected the creature to have looked like.

The warning bell rang then, catching her attention as she zoned back in to the buzz of the class preparing for the teachers lecture. And just like every other morning, her French partner stumbled in through the door . . . late as usual. He took his seat beside her with quick and erratic breaths as the teacher scolded him. He seemed frantic as he hurriedly shifted his textbook open, trying to catch up though Riley could tell something else was on his mind. But despite his unusual demeanor this morning, she noticed the clear complexion of his skin. It was odd to see it smooth and even, never having seen him without a bruise or a laceration.

Isaac told people all the time that they were from lacrosse . . . Even during the off season.

Riley frowned, looking away suddenly as he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. It were as if he could feel her eyes on him. She studied the curve of her ball point pen until he too looked away, theorizing again that his typical bruises couldn’t have all be from practice. In the small town they lived in, it was like everybody knew everybody . . . And Isaac was no exception. Everyone knew his father was the town drunk. Everyone knew that his mother had committed suicide while he was younger. Everyone knew that his brother, Camden, had died overseas in Afghanistan over the summer.

Everyone knew where those bruises came from . . . But no one ever asked why.

The door to their classroom creaked open then, the principal shuffling in as he handed a note to the teacher. “Mr. Lahey!” Isaac perked at the call of his last name, his curly, dirty—blonde hair falling into his pretty blue eyes as if he hoped it would camouflage him.

The teacher beckoned his hand forward for Isaac, both adorning stern looks as the tall and lean boy beside Riley slowly gathered his things. He ignored the whispers and ‘ooooh’s’ spilling from his fellow classmates mouths, bypassing the principal and out into the hall. The exchange felt unsettling somehow as the door shut behind them, finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate the rest of her first period.

 

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By third period, Riley approached her locker with distain. Wishing for this day to be over, hoping to fall face first into her bed the minute she got home from school. She exchanged her French books for Algebra. A yawn tore its way through her lips as she shut the door to her locker, seeing Scott McCall bounding around the corner in a hurry. She hadn’t seen him over the weekend, barely recognizing him after a well deserved haircut that altered his appearance.

It was shorter now, coarse and thick but something more mature.

His once shaggy hair had framed his baby face, but with it cropped short it allowed his strong jawline to protrude. “Hey!” He waived her down breathlessly, as if he’d been trying to find her. “Did you hear the news?” His wide, brown eyes were concerned and slightly panicked.

“What?” She asked mockingly, shuffling her books between both arms.

Scott’s voice lowered into a whisper, “They’re taking Isaac Lahey into custody.” He remarked, his eyes skimming the passing kids around them nervously. Riley’s brows furrowed, her teeth clamping down against one another in surprise. “I overheard the Sheriff questioning him in the principals office,” he relayed, “they found his dad murdered last night!” Feeling her throat swell at his words, she tried to imagine her kind and shy French partner as a killer. It was impossible. “At practice this morning,” Scott continued, “Something about him felt off.”

“Off?” She finally said, repeating him with worry. “What do you mean ‘off’?”

“I mean . . . “ Scott McCall trailed off, “he wasn’t exactly human.”

And with such impeccable timing, Sheriff Stilinski turned down their hall as he lead Isaac Lahey toward the parking lot in handcuffs. The tall and lean teenager kept his eyes down, as if he were humiliated among his fellow classmates. But as Isaac passed Scott, he peered up at him with a defeated gleam within his eye.

Scott felt compelled to follow them out, bounding after the Beta as they sprinted through the hallway and out the double doors to the parking lot. They paused on the steps, watching the police load Isaac into the back of the cruiser before pulling away. “Not human?” Riley asked, feeling the sun beat down on her from above.

It was unusually hot for February. “A Werewolf.” Scott concluded. “Like me.”

Riley swallowed the lump forming in the back of her throat then, finding it difficult to believe that Isaac could have gone from human to supernatural creature overnight. He hadn’t shown signs of his change from what Riley could see, despite the once visible lacerations on his cheek from last week having suddenly vanished.

And the more she tried to compare and contrast the boy to a supernatural monster, she came to realize one important factor. “Tonight’s a full moon, isn’t it?”

Scott kept his eyes firmly set on the gate enclosing the parking lot, as if he were staring at the spot he’d last seen Isaac before the cruiser had disappeared out of sight. “Yep.” He popped, the word forming around a panicked breath. “If it’s his first full moon, he won’t be able to control it.”

“Inexperienced werewolf tempered by the full moon, locked up in a police station?” Riley bit her lip, stating the facts as if saying them out loud helped her keep track of the timeline.

Scott sighed, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Riley nodded. “Break Isaac Lahey’s werewolf ass out from jail.”

A sudden squeal of tires peeled into the parking lot, watching as a black sports car sped down the road in a hurry, skidding to a stop in front of the steps both Riley and Scott stood upon. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar aviator—clad Alpha behind the wheel. “Get in.” Derek revved the engine to his Camaro, his expression stern, though they couldn’t see his eyes.

“Get in?” Scott seethed, throwing his arms out to his sides incredulously. “You did that, didn’t you?” He accused. What other Alpha was going around town recruiting teenagers? First Jackson, now Isaac . . . Scott couldn’t help but wonder who would be next. He could sense the hesitation emanating from Derek, not needing him to confirm nor deny. “It’s your fault!”

Derek remained calm as Scott rose his voice, nodding his head slightly. “I know it is.” Riley’s brows rose in surprise, not expecting Derek to ever take the blame for anything. “Now get in and help me.” His voice was more of a demand this time, feeling his gaze shift from between both Riley and Scott.

“Help you?” Riley scoffed. “Don’t you think we should maybe get a lawyer? They’ll probably have a better chance at getting him out of jail before the moon goes up.”

Derek shook his head before she could even finish speaking. “Not when they do a full search of Isaac’s house.” He replied cryptically, to which both Scott and Riley tilted their heads in wonder. “Look,” Derek continued, “whatever evidence they have against Isaac, what’s in the house is worse . . . Much worse.” Derek leaned across the passenger seat of his Camaro, pulling the lever to open the car door as an invitation. “If we go now,” he murmured, “I can show you.”

It was Scott who reluctantly stepped forward first, approaching the car door despite not agreeing with Derek’s tactics in building a pack. The Beta paused, looking over his shoulder to Riley with a nod before pulling the front seat forward to allow her enough room to squeeze into the backseat.

“You really fucked up this time, didn’t ya?” Riley snapped as she situated herself in the back. Her hands clutched the Italian leather firmly as he applied pressure to the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking lot and toward the street. “You should have learned after turning Jackson that maybe biting teenagers isn’t such a good idea.”

Derek’s grip on the wheel tightened at her accusation. “He asked me to.” He defended himself. Riley rolled her eyes, gnashing her teeth together to keep her anger controlled. “Even after I told him about the con’s; the hunters and the shifting—He still wanted the bite.” He glared at her from the rearview mirror, trying to defend his decision. “Besides,” he eased his grip and relaxed his shoulders, “He’s not the one who killed his father.”

“How—how do you know that?” Scott stammered.

“He told me he didn’t.” The Alpha confessed. “And I trust my Beta.” The car fell silent then as Derek turned into a middle class neighborhood. It was as if he knew exactly where he was going. “With all that’s been happening lately,” he said after a minute, “with Kate being dead and the Argent’s on high alert, I have a feeling that something bad will happen sooner or later. Gerard, Chris and Kate’s father, is back in town and he’ll be looking for any reason to avenge his dead daughter.”

Riley crossed her arms over her chest in the back seat. “Peter was the one who clawed her throat out,” Riley reminded, “and he’s dead too, so why would Allison’s grandfather seek vengeance?”

“It’s not just about who did it.” Derek hinted. “Gerard Argent has always been about one thing . . . Hunting wolves one by one.”

Scott shook his head. “Don’t they have a code?” He asked. “They only hunt those who hunt them?”

“That’s Chris Argent’s code.” Derek corrected. “He’s always been more careful than Kate and Gerard.” Derek pulled up along the curb of a house, its brick red walls crumbling in small corners after years of neglect. “Gerard won’t hesitate if he catches any of us alone, which is why building a pack is in our best interest—“

“Your best interest.” Scott mentioned. “I already told you I don’t want any part of it.”

Derek cut the engine, turning slightly to face Scott. “Why?” He pegged. “Because you think your little hunter girlfriend won’t let anything happen to you?” He demanded. “That’s more reason for the Argent’s to target you.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Scott deflected coldly, looking out the passenger side window at the caution tape draped over the front door of the Lahey's home. He remembered Allison’s words, her fathers demand that she not see him. He’d expected his daughter to completely eradicate Scott from her life, but it had been easier said than done. They pretended to not notice each other, but he couldn’t help himself when he snuck out late at night to go see her.

“Whatever she is,” Derek lacked tactlessly, “she’ll get you killed.” He opened his door then, getting out of his car as he made his way up the side walk of the Lahey home. It took a second for Scott to follow behind, feeling the rising moon begin to alter his mood.

Riley followed behind Scott as Derek bypassed the crime scene tape, extracting a flash light from his back pocket as he held the front door open for the two of them. The inside of the house was dark, the setting sun igniting the bay windows of the kitchen in a soft glow. Riley’s eyes could not adjust like theirs did, keeping on Derek’s heels as he shined the flash light to brighten their path.

“How is this going to help us break Isaac out of jail?” Riley asked.

Derek could feel her breath on the back of his neck, cool and sweet. “Because Isaac’s home life was worse than any of you thought.” He lead them toward the back end of the house. “If the police knew what I know, they’d have reasonable cause.”

“So . . .” Scott hummed, “What are we doing here?”

Derek paused at a door in the hallway of Isaac’s house, twisting the knob with so much force that the deadbolt above it came loose. “We have to destroy the evidence before the Police can see it.” He opened the wooden door, allowing it to creak open as he flashed his light down a long and dark flight of stairs.

It must have lead to the basement, the darkness flooding Riley’s eyes as she took a step closer toward the Alpha leading them. He went first, his weight causing the wooden planks to bend and squeak as they descended the stairs one step at a time.

Riley gripped the banister with a firm palm, feeling the chipped pieces of wood graze her skin. “We’ll need Stiles to help us break him out.” Derek planned as they stepped further and further into the unknown. “If he can steal the cell keys from his dad, we can just bypass security and sneak him out.”

Scott scoffed. “Sneak him out? There’s probably over a dozen armed deputies patrolling the station at all times.”

Derek shook his head, though it was too dark for Riley to see. “Because of budget cuts,” Derek reminded, “they’ve only got four or five active deputies for each shift.”

Riley stumbled on the last step, fumbling forward when she found that the banister would not stop her fall. Her hands collided with Derek’s lower back, catching herself with a hasty apology as she quickly removed her hands from his leather clad shoulders. Riley wrung her hands together then, stepping in toe beside Derek as they reached the cement floor of the basement. “What’s down here?” She wondered, stretching out the collar of her cotton shirt as the air became increasingly muggy.

“Motive.” Derek Hale responded. He shined his light over each wall of the basement, skimming over tattered boxes and old bicycles. “Use your senses, Scott.” He directed, nodding his head forward for the Beta to go first.

“What am I even looking for?” Scott asked, taking small and measured steps ahead of them. He replayed Derek’s voice, telling him to focus on his heightened senses. Perhaps he’d be able to find things that no one could see with the naked eye. He paced forward a few steps, his eyes raking the cement floor beneath his feet. Scott breathed in heavily, the scent of paint chips and mildew filling his lungs. And as his eyes skimmed over what he assumed to be a small crack in the pavement, he finally paused.

Riley watched as he bent to his knees, inspecting it with a closer view.

It wasn’t a crack, he could see that now. They were four small and jagged lines about two inches long. Scott narrowed his gaze, tilting his head to asses the situation before aligning the pads of his fingers to the indents. They were a close match, finally able to determine that they were scratch marks from someone being dragged away.

Scott rose to his feet in one swift movement. “What happened down here?”

Derek took a few steps forward, coming to a stop beside Scott. His flashlight shined on the far back wall, upon a large white freezer. “The kind of thing that leaves an impression.” Derek determined. Scott followed the beam of light, raking his eyes over the dirty freezer with enlightenment. “Open it.” Derek suggested.

Riley remained frozen at the foot of the stairs, balling her hands into tight fists to keep her hands from shaking. With unsteady feet, Scott approached the freezer box with small steps. A dense cloud of depression seemed to collect within the four walls, as if the walls had seen more than any of the three of them could fathom. Scott ran his hand along it’s lid, feeling a heaviness collect inside his chest. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake, nor could he explain. It was the purest feeling of something cruel festering in the darkest corners of this basement.

His heart beat rapidly, pounding away inside his chest as his fingers slipped under the lip of the lid.

He propped the lid against the wall, seeing the trunk of the freezer empty and hollowed out. Derek shined his light at a pile of chains strewn at Scott’s feet. Hoping the Beta was smart enough to piece it together . . . But it was Riley who did so first, speaking up from behind them with a broken tone. “His dad didn’t just beat him.” She figured. “He’d chain him up inside.”

Derek didn’t turn to address her, but squared his jaw and nodded as he kept his gaze planted on the freezer before them. “This is why he said yes to you.” Scott confirmed.

“Everyone want’s the power to fight back.” Derek breathed.

Scott wondered what was worse, being monstrous enough to beat their son? Or being a literal monster in every sense of the word. He agreed on the former, because there had to be some form of innocence still buried within Isaac. It took him a long moment to consider, before finally closing the lid and turning to face the Alpha. “I’ll help you.” He assured. “But this doesn’t mean I’m a part of your pack.”

“We’re stronger in numbers.” He confessed, though it was already something Scott was well aware of. “I can teach you things you wouldn’t be able to learn yourself, Scott.” He reached forward quickly then, snatching the Beta’s enclosed fist. He held it up, constricting his wrist until Scott unraveled his rigid fingers. His claws were protruding, his jaw squared. “I can teach you control, even on a full moon.”

Scott yanked his arm back, looking to Riley for a prolonged moment before nodding back at Derek. “You two should go.” He urged, knowing he wouldn’t be able to help break Isaac out if he couldn’t contain the monster clawing away inside his chest. “Get Isaac out,” he managed to plan, “I’ll stay here.” He looked back at the freeze with hate filled eyes, knowing he’d enjoy releasing all his pent up anger on destroying it’s presence.

 

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Riley opted for the front seat as they drove back downtown. Her frustration was evident as she fiddled with the pearl ring on her index finger, clamping her jaw shut to keep her anger filled rant from spilling out. Despite the evidence clearly indicating the abuse Isaac had suffered through, she found that it was hard to pin the murder of his father on him. She’d known him the better part of half a year now, enough time to understand the character of someone, knowing the Isaac she knew was not capable of something like that.

He was a strong kid, built of lean muscle and towering over her at six—foot—four. But perhaps strength didn't matter in comparison to the mental strength needed to overcome the trauma. Isaac Lahey had always been shy, well mannered and kind. He excelled at French as her partner, often times helping her with difficult pronunciations that seemed to come easy to him. He was a scared kid living behind a mask. And even if he had killed his father, a part of Riley couldn’t blame him.

Confined to a chained and gutted freezer for hours at a time when his dead beat father didn’t feel like torturing him face—to—face, Riley shook her head at the memory of the freezer box. The inside shredded apart by Isaac’s nails, trying to claw himself out once his claustrophobia began to settle in. “Are we really going to leave Scott behind?” She asked suddenly, throwing her thumb over her shoulder hastily. “The full moon’s in a few hours.”

It had significantly darkened as time eased by, the headlights to the Camaro guiding them closer and closer to the Sheriff’s station. Derek trusted Scott enough to know he wouldn’t tear through the town like a rampant werewolf would. He expected the Beta to focus all of his building aggression into destroying the evidence. “It’ll be good for him.” He concluded with a nod of his head. _“Cathartic.”_

Destroying the evidence of the abuse Isaac’s father inflicted on him was only the first step to what Derek assumed would be a very long night. The police would find evident cause for murder once they thoroughly checked the house and pieced it together. But getting rid of it seemed like the easiest part, knowing that getting Isaac out of the station without any witnesses or casualties would be more difficult than he could anticipate.

If they didn’t make it to him in time, Isaac would tear through that cell like a hot knife through butter. His instincts would heighten his fear, unable to control the monster clawing through his chest. If for some reason they couldn’t get him out in time, Derek knew they’d have a bloodbath on their hands. “Is it the full moon?” He heard Riley’s voice tether him back to the present, like an echo bustling through a winding tunnel. He turned to her in confusion, watching her nod her head at his tightened hands around the steering wheel.

He hadn't noticed his grip until now, relaxing them with an uneven and slow breath.

The effects of the full moon above could never go unnoticed by him, only dimmed into an ache within the back of his skull. He never focused on it enough to consume him, placing his rapid thoughts on the topic of his anger. Derek always used his hatred as a crutch, helping him differentiate the man from the beast. In all honesty, he had a lot to be angry about too. With a quick shake of his head he cleared his throat then, “No.” He answered her, though it were only half true. Maybe there was a part of him that didn’t want her to know how vulnerable the moon made him feel. “I’m in complete and total control.”

Still new to the supernatural world, Riley was still curious about some of the aspects of being anything other than human. “Was it easier for you?” She asked after a moment, looking to him before shifting her gaze back out the windshield. “Because you were born not bitten?”

At her question, his mind seemed to unlock a vault of memories he typically never ventured through. They were of a time back upon his youth, back when he still had a family to call his own. He remembered the shifting and how it felt like his bones were breaking. How the moon’s fullness used to taunt him, and how for a very long time he use to fear it. Derek use to be afraid of what he was, hating what it could turn him in to. It was his mother who shifted his fear into understanding all those years ago.

It was Talia Hale who once told him that even though he was a predator, he didn’t have to be a killer.

He could use his gift to help people, just like how his mother use to once protect Beacon Hills. “I had to learn the same way as Scott.” He clarified, remembering a family heirloom passed down from his fathers side from generation to generation. It was a wooden carved disk, the symbol of a triskelion molded into its center. The three curves of the triskelion signified the three lineages of werewolves; Alpha, Beta and Omega. A reminder that any could rise to one or fall to another.

Riley pursed her lips as they grew closer to the sheriff’s station, wondering if now was the best time to pry. Maybe there would never be a right or wrong time, but merely a right or wrong question. Asking him about his past was always an iffy subject, because the questions could often times create a rift of frustration within his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. And maybe it wasn't her business after all. There seemed to be no reason for Derek to owe her an explanation.

Derek pulled into the parking lot of the Sheriff’s Station then, seeing Stiles Stilinski parked in the furthest corner of the lot. He seemed wired and on edge as he paced back and forth in quick, short spurts with his thumbnail wedged between his teeth until they parked beside his powder blue Jeep. Before Riley could even open the passenger side door, Stiles was ranting in a rather shaken tone. “We’ve got a problem—Actually,” he corrected, “a huge problem.” Riley and Derek both met him at the hood of his car with heightened interest. “I just got off the phone with Allison,” he vented, “and she said she saw a hunter dressed like a deputy leave her house!”

With her brows knitting together accordingly, she found it hard to keep up with his rambling. “She said he was carrying a briefcase with a picture of a wolfsbane flower on it.” His wide eyes were frantic as his arms waived out at his sides in an alarmed gesture. “She thinks Gerard sent him to kill Isaac.” Riley remembered that name being spoken before. Allison’s grandfather was a hunter, both unlawful and vigilant in his attempts at eradicating the Werewolf population. “She said she’d try her best to hinder him.”

“Great.” Riley drew out the word in a mocking tone. Her arms crossed over her chest defensively as she looked between the Alpha at her side and best friend across from her. “Not only do we have to worry about getting Isaac out in,” she checked her phone for the time, “thirty—seven minutes, but now we have to do it before a skilled hunter does?”

“It won’t be easy.” Derek agreed with a tight nod. “Let’s just hope Allison keeps her word.”

Knowing that Gerard probably gave orders to kill anyone or anything that gets in the Hunters way, this plan just became a whole—hell of a lot more dangerous. “Okay then,” Stiles rubbed the palms of his hands together deviously, shifting his eyes over their shoulders to the front door of the station, “the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my dads office.”

“I’m assuming you have the password?” Riley pondered.

Stiles squinted his face up in surprise, “‘I’m assuming you have the password’,” he mocked Riley’s tone sarcastically, “Of course I do!” He assured. “I have the passwords to all my dad’s stuff.” He toned down the sarcasm then, pointing to the window with a clear view of the lobby. “The only problem now is getting past the front desk.”

Derek turned to look over his shoulder, from their distance he could see a woman idling behind the counter in her deputy uniform. With a willful shrug of his leather clad shoulder, Derek volunteered. “I’ll distract her.” He turned on his heel to head up the sidewalk before Stiles lurched forward and fisted his jacket within his nervous palms.

He tugged firmly until Derek stopped. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” He chanted. “You can’t just waltz in!”

“Sure I can.” Derek informed defensively, glaring at Stiles' freckled hand laced around the collar of his jacket and back at him. His eyes darkened just the slightest, silently suggesting that Stiles remove his hand from him immediately, unless he wanted to lose it.

Stiles obliged with an anxious laugh, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. “He’s right,” Riley agreed, looking to the stubble cheeked man beside her, “you’re not exactly the Sheriff’s favorite person.” Her words implied that John Stilinski considered him a heathen. Wherever there was trouble in Beacon Hills, there always seemed to be a Hale at the center of it.

Derek disagreed. “I was exonerated.” Reminding them that the murders had been pinned on Peter Hale following his death, leaving him free of any charges.

Stiles ran a shaky hand over his buzzed hair, “You were still a person of interest.”

“An innocent person.” Derek defended himself.

Riley could see that their bantering was getting them nowhere, knowing that the longer they stayed out here and argued, the less time they’d have to get Isaac out safely. “You’re innocent,” she confirmed, hoping saying so would ease his defensive tone, “but they don’t exactly know that.” She concluded. “Nor do they probably care.”

Wanting to trust Riley’s thoughts, he found that despite his plan being flawed, it was the only one being voiced. “Anyone else have a better plan?” He wondered with a raised brow. His onyx colored stubble spread evenly over his squared jaw. “No?” He asked in surprise once no one spoke up. “Then this is the one we’re going with.” He turned then, heading up the sidewalk to the front doors. Riley and Stiles followed quickly behind, anxious and unsure as Stiles asked him for a full rundown of his plan. “I’ll distract her,” he assured, keeping a leisure pace towards the front doors.

“Ha!” Stiles laughed. “How?” Despite Derek’s back being turned toward them, Riley could tell that the hyperactive spaz that was her friend, was beginning to get on his last nerve. “What are you going to do, Derek, punch her in the face?”

His assumption that the Alpha would resort to violence was offensive. “By talking to her!” Derek muttered with an agitated sigh. He was confident that he was more than capable of distracting the female deputy, using his ruggedly handsome looks to possibly keep her busy.

Riley kept up with their pace with long and quick strides, finding it hard to keep up with their bantering when she knew their time was dwindling down. “Give me an example of what you’ll say!” Stiles demanded, still not comfortable with Derek’s plan. The alpha quickened his pace ahead of them, becoming more and more irritated by Stiles’ flustered voice. The freckle—faced kid took the lack of Derek’s response as a sign. “Dead silence.” The teen cackled. “That should work beautifully! Got any other ideas?”

Derek stopped then, so abrupt that Stiles tripped over his own skidding feet and ran into his back. He quickly straightened himself, smoothing out his shirt as the Alpha veered around to glare at him. “I’m thinking of punching you in the face.” It was more of a promise than a threat, assuring Stiles that if he did not cooperate, he’d have more than just a rampant Beta to deal with.

Stiles backed off then, putting his palms up instinctively as if to show he was giving up. “Yeah,” he stuttered, “I’d really prefer if you didn’t. I’ve got great bone structor.” He concluded in a rambling fit of expression. He looked to Derek with half pleading eyes. “Not as good as you though, buddy.” He clapped the Alpha on the shoulder, digging himself a deeper hole the more he rambled in nervousness. It was like word vomit, just saying the first thing that came to mind to veer the conversation away from an uncomfortable topic. “No, I can’t grow a beard like that—“

“Stiles?” Riley hummed to gain his attention.

“Yeah?” He turned his head quickly as he scratched his soft jawline with nimble fingers.

“Shut up.” Able to see the irritation flood Derek’s narrowed greenish—gray eyes, she suggested to her friend that maybe keeping his mouth shut wouldn’t result in a black eye. But Stiles nodded, clenching his teeth together to keep from spewing out a anxious rant to expel his nerves. “Derek’s plan might actually work.” She commented. “While he’s inside flirting with her, you and I sneak into the back, you get the keys and meet me at the cell.”

Riley could see that Stiles was visibly holding in the sarcastic comment he wanted to make in regards to Derek’s flirting skills, but her threatening gaze made him clamp his lips together tightly. “Perfect.” She smiled, her cheeks raising to her eyes. She turned then to Derek, placing her hand around the curve of his shoulder as she ushered him forward. “We’ve got twenty—two minutes till the moon reaches its apex.”

Rolling his shoulders as if to dissolve himself from the tension, he maneuvered through the double doors confidently. Riley and Stiles followed behind Derek, though they kept a safe distance from him as he rounded the corner from the hall and into the lobby. Riley centered her breathing as they waited, peering her head ever so slightly around the corner to see Derek leaning against the counter casually, a look of fake innocence gleaming within his tender eyes.

They heard the voice of the female deputy echo, asking him what he wanted before she finally looked up at him, stumbling over her words as they went a few octave’s higher in surprise. The Deputy did not seem to recognize his picture from the previous months top wanted billboard in the staff room, but perhaps that was a good thing. From their safe position behind the hallway door, Riley could see them making small talk, keeping the conversation open ended in case things didn’t go as planned.

Derek smiled, laughing along to whatever she said as if to lead her on.

He faked it so well, that it left Riley wondering if he did this with every girl . . . Herself included.

It was Stiles that nudged her first, nodding his head as he analyzed the deputy with close eyes. Looking fully invested in whatever flirtatious thing Derek Hale said, he assumed that now would be their only chance. He moved first, tip—toeing along the far wall as if he thought he’d blend into it if he concentrated hard enough. He skimmed along the wall sideways, sliding his feet against the tile floors to ease him by.

He made it look so easy, being the devious son of a Sheriff, Stiles had many years of practice sneaking around. Riley tried to follow suit, waiting until he made it to the safety of the opposite wall, out of sight of the deputy that she slowly eased forward.

Her boots felt heavy against the tile below, hoping the heel wouldn’t thud against it and alert the Deputy of their deception. Riley kept her eyes on Derek, who inadvertently kept his own wide and kind eyes fixated on the woman, keeping her preoccupied as if he were use to it. Riley trailed the far wall with the pads of her fingers, counting her steps to keep her anxious mind focused on not tripping. At the end of the other wall, where the hallway connected to the back office and cells, Stiles waived his hand forward frantically to hurry her up.

She quickened her pace and breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the back hallway and out of view of the Deputy.

The Sheriff’s office was unfamiliar to her, not knowing it like the back of her hand the way Stiles did. He remembered running around the halls, hiding from his dad when he was younger. There wasn’t any crevice, camera or office he didn’t know about. Following behind him closely, it was easier to maneuver freely now, as most of the deputies on shift were bent over their desk’s working on sorting case files. It wasn’t until they reached the end of the hallway that Stiles paused before a door labeled ‘Sheriff’, where he signaled her forward.

“I’ll get the key,’ he whispered, “I’ll meet you at Isaac’s cell.”

He nodded down an opposing hallway, ensuring they’d be that way in case Riley got lost.

He disappeared behind the door, leaving her on her own as she idled uncomfortably for a few seconds. Moving along the hallway then, she kept a close proximity to the wall, following it directly while also using it to support her increasingly shaking frame. Unsure of if Isaac would be where Stiles assumed, or if he’d even be alive for that matter. It was entirely possible that hunter beat them there and had already disposed of Isaac’s body.

Shaking her head of that image, she willed herself to follow through with the plan for the Beta’s sake. He was innocent, despite the factors played against him and she would not let him die for something he did not do.

The hallway ahead seemed to branch off then, opening up into a rather large back room filled with individual cells. Riley paused at the corner of the hall, bracing herself against it as she took a deep lungful of air. It expanded her lungs to their fullest capacity, exhaling it back out through her nose. With a tight jaw and thinly pressed lips, she whirled around the corner to face the cells in one swift motion. Her hands, splayed out at her side, stopped shaking then.

From her stance, she could see that the visible cells were empty, veering her gaze to the right to the only isolated cell meant for risky suspects. The door that should have been locked, was hung open. A silence so incredibly eerie sunk into her lungs and cradled her stomach. It made her throat swell, feeling hot and acidic bile rise up to the back of her mouth. The cells were empty . . . They must have been too late.

An unexpected heat gathered in her eyes, unsure of when she’d become so emotional over the execution of a kid she hadn’t known that well. They flooded, but did not brim over. An iced chill coarsed along her spine, feeling her skin pepper with goosebumps as a sound clamored off the steel cell walls. Riley’s body tensed, identifying the low and menacing hum of a growl. With slow and precise movements, she turned her head over her left shoulder, seeking out the source of the noise.

From the shadowed corner of the room, where the overhead florescent lights could not reach, she saw a pair of yellow eyes glow. Sauntering forward with unsure and hesitant feet, the slender and tall frame of a teenage Werewolf came into view. Riley would not have recognized him if not for his curled, dirty—blonde, cropped hair. The bridge of his nose protruded, scrunched together like the visible outline of a wolf. His lips were curled back over his bared teeth, razor sharp and pearly white as they ached to latch onto her skin.

Taking a deliberate and petrified step back, Riley put her palms up in surrender. “Isaac.” She breathed his name in hopes of breaking him out of his tempered phase brought on by the full moon. This was his first shift, confused and alone, he must have broken through the cell doors in a panic. ”Isaac.” She said again, her voice more firm.

With each small step she took back, he took one forward as if to bridge the distance between them. Having given into the bloodlust the wolf inside of him craved, he couldn't recognize her. But he could hear the frantic beat of her heart, thumping away inside of her chest as if to beckon him forward. The only way he could cure the ache to tear his claws into something, was to actually do so. “Isaac.” She tried again, her voice cracking just a bit when he growled in response. “It’s me . . . Riley.”

But it was like he couldn’t comprehend her words, as if she were speaking on a frequency he couldn’t quite match. “I’m here to help you, okay?” Isaac opened his mouth, his head tilting back to let out a more guttural snarl. He didn’t seem interested in her help . . . Only the enigmatic thump of her heart as it lured him closer.

It was as if he could feel her pulse, so strong and alluring that it shook the ground he stood on. And he feared that if he didn’t act soon, the ground would crumble from it’s intensity. His yellow eyes brightened, suddenly lurching forward as a shrill sound of fear echoed within his ears. Isaac’s clawed hands clutched Riley’s wrist, thrusting her back until he’d cornered her against the wall. Yet, despite her odds, she fought back.

Wrestling over his grip on her, thrashing her limbs with as much force as she could muster, Riley found that the shrill sound ricochetting off the walls came from her own mouth. A painful throb began to collect over the soft skin of her forearm, seeing the fresh blood seep from the four embedded wounds from his claws. They’d penetrated her skin, breaking through her flesh with one firm squeeze.

A commotion, somehow louder than theirs, filed into the room as a siren suddenly blared from the Station’s speakers. Red and yellow lights flashed from the hazards embellishing the ceiling above as two wrestling forms bustled in from the hallway. Riley felt Isaac’s grip loosen on her as they watched Stiles and a Deputy entangle themselves around each other for whatever was in the Deputy clad mans hand.

The subtle difference in the coloring of the beige deputy shirt suggested he were a fraud. He was the hunter sent by Gerard to kill Isaac, and the item they fought over was a Wolfsbane filled syringe.

The fake deputy shoved Stiles back, gaining his breath for a second before an enraged Werewolf lunged for him next. Riley felt compelled to intervene, seeing them both struggle to outweigh the other in a brawl. Stiles stumbled back to a safe distance, hearing the blare of the fire alarm that he’d pulled to cause a distraction. He’d caught the hunter in his fathers office, stealing the cell keys just like he’d planned to do himself.

Riley cradled her aching and bloodied wrist to her chest, feeling her heart accelerate once she saw Isaac gain the upper hand and heave the hunter back with a single shove to his chest. Like a rag doll being tossed carelessly, the faux deputy collided with the nearby steel bars of the cell, slumping to the ground in a pile of limp limbs. Isaac let out a satisfied roar, his fangs exposed and his rigid hands sprung with claws.

But even with having won the scuffle, the beast inside Isaac was still somehow insatiable.

His wondering eyes skimmed between Riley and Stiles, trying to determine who he’d go for next, until an equally as haunting growl challenged Isaac. Riley could see Derek slip into view now, his searing red eyes dominating and determined in persuading his Beta to stand down. Isaac’s knees buckled at the weight of the command stemming from his Alpha, cowering in sudden submission,

The Werewolf dropped to his knees, bowing his head as if to show loyalty to his leader.

“How’d you do that?” Stiles asked breathlessly.

Derek smiled as his red eyes faded back to their natural greenish—gray hue. “Because,” he spoke matter—of—factly, _“I’m the Alpha.”_

 

 


	14. A Disadvantage

The weekend seemed to drag on at an excruciatingly slow pace. Most people hated Mondays, but Riley found it exceedingly difficult not to anticipate this upcoming week. It felt as if something had shifted, something different lingered in the air over the town of Beacon Hills. With countless incidents of an unknown creature seen lurking all over town, Riley couldn’t help but connect the eeriness of it’s claimed attributes to the monster she’d seen within her dream. Even one of Riley’s good friends, Allison Argent, had claimed to see it the night of the full moon. She’d claimed that it’s yellow, slitted eyes were menacing, its mouth spread over rows of razored teeth. That it’s skin held a blue—green tint, the texture to that of a snake. Allison had said it’s hiss was bone chilling, threatened by it’s presence before it took off into the preserve. On account of Riley trusting her, she couldn't deny that the description matched the creature she’d had a nightmare about.

And it wasn’t just the one nightmare, it was three. Every night during the weekend.

Having had worked the entirety of those two days off of school, she hadn’t been able to keep up with any new news regarding what it had been.

Grabbing a water bottle from her nearly empty refrigerator and her tips strewn across the counter from the night before, she headed to school with an abundant amount of enthusiasm. Not only was her town suffering a bi—pedaled lizard crisis, but it seemed as if everywhere she went, she saw wanted posters strewn about for Isaac Lahey. A fugitive in Beacon County after Riley, Stiles and Derek had busted him out of the Sheriff’s Station last Friday night.

Although she hadn’t heard from Isaac directly, she knew he was safe. He was staying with Derek, wherever the hell that might be, as the Alpha began to teach him the knowledge required to thrive as a werewolf. But it was still odd not seeing the Sophomore in her French class, wondering just how well he was adapting to his freshly given gift.

Despite Riley being ready for the new week, she could tell that the students on campus were on edge. Perhaps it had more to do with the accusations made at Isaac, their studious and silent classmate, than it did the sightings of an unknown animal lurking. But she knew one thing for sure, if they didn’t find out what exactly it was that Allison and dozens of others had seen, it was possible that someone could get hurt.

By the time gym rolled around, Riley headed for the locker room feeling amped. For some reason her adrenaline felt heightened, like she could run a mile for fun. As she rounded the corner inside the locker room, she bumped into the fragile shoulder of a petite blonde. The books she’d been about to place inside her locker fell to their feet. “I’m sorry, Erica!” Riley huffed, bending quickly to retrieve them.

“It’s fine—“ She murmured as she flinched, tucking a piece of her frizzy blonde curls back behind her ear, “It’s fine.” Saying it unemotionally, as if Erica Reyes was always accepting an apology like it was a half—assed excuse for her peers to torment her. And that’s what people were known for doing, because it was a well known fact that Erica always seemed to be at the brunt of someone’s joke. If it wasn’t for her appearance, awkwardly beautiful in a way most kids found humiliating, then most of it was due to her epilepsy.

And even despite Riley’s sincere tone and sympathetic eyes, Erica found it hard to say anything other than ‘it’s fine’. In all honesty, she never really ever felt that way. Feeling tired and moody because of her seizure medication, it felt almost impossible to be sincere back. So she kept quiet as she grabbed her books from Riley’s outstretched hand and continued on toward the gym.

Doing the same, Riley dressed down for her next class as she followed behind a few minutes later. She found that Coach Finstock had opted to combine the boys and girls class for a hour—filled competitive game. It kept people buzzing and lively as she stepped inside the gymnasium to see a rock wall. The combined classes gathered around the Coach as he relayed the safety instructions manually.

Riley used this time to sneak up beside Scott and Stiles at the back of the group, nudging the werewolf with a stiff shoulder as he smiled at her. Up front, Riley could see Lydia and Allison measuring the height of the wall with their eyes, feeling intimidated as it towered over them. “Any word on Isaac?” She whispered, pretending to pay attention to the half—assed tone coming from Coach's mouth.

Scott simply shook his head, knowing that the Beta was hiding out in the care of Derek Hale. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or terrified. “No,” Stiles announced casually, stretching his arms across his chest to loosen his muscles, “but my Dad is having a freaking field day trying to find him.” His freckled face squinted together notably, “he’s littered every streetlight with wanted signs and every news outlet runs his story every night at six.”

Riley frowned as she propped herself onto the tips of her toes, straining her calves, “I saw.”

As the Coach finished up his spiel, Stiles leaned over to jab his finger at Scott’s chest playfully. “I could totally kick your ass at this.” He argued with glittering, whiskey eyes. The werewolf snorted, shaking his head as if to disagree. Did Stiles forget about his super—speed? “No wolf powers!” He pointed out. Stiles stretched out his leg, turning it just so to show them his pasty—white limb. “You see these calve muscles?” He asked. “Specifically designed to out—climb your werewolf ass!”

Feeling the playful banter deepen between the three of them, Riley rose the stakes. “I bet twenty—bucks that I beat you.” She rose a brow as if to challenge the spastic kid in return.

He narrowed his eyes, willing to bet the keys to his beloved Jeep that she was wrong.

“Alright you degenerates!” Coach Finstock yelled before blowing his whistle. “Boys against girls, whose first?” Riley could see the arms of surrounding students raise quickly, Stiles and Scott’s included as the Coach pointed to two kids in the crowd. “McCall!” He bellowed, before picking out a girl. “Argent! Get up here!”

Stiles and Riley shared a knowing look as the two got fitted for their harnesses. The werewolf and hunter hadn’t spoken at school, mostly due to the illusion they wanted to give that they weren’t together. It was Allison’s father that had made that demand after what had happened at the winter formal. And though they snuck out periodically almost every week to see each other, they were hesitant to interact at school now that Allison’s mother was a substitute and her grandfather was filling in as principle.

Watching as both Scott and Allison braced themselves at the base of the rock wall, they waited until the coach blew his whistle to begin the ascend toward the top. Despite Scott’s heightened abilities, they both seemed to stay at an even pace until they got about halfway. Allison was strategic in her hand placements, her grip firm and her legs quick as she began to out—climb Scott. With an impressive gleam within her eyes, Riley murmured, “There’s no way she's beating him.”

Stiles chuckled. “He’s letting her win.” He winked at her, expecting her to understand and cleared his throat when he realized she did not. “Just look at how short Allison’s shorts are, you can’t blame him for admiring the view.”

Riley’s expression turned down then as she glared at him accusingly. “You guys are pigs!” She enunciated even though both she and Stiles broke into a small fit of laughter.

And just like she expected, once Allison seemed to get toward the top, Scott picked up his pace. He caught up to her quickly, agile and lithe as he ghosted up the wall as if he hadn’t of even broken a sweat. And just as Scott was about to pass her, Allison kicked out her leg as she tripped him mid reach. Scott lost his footing, his palms clutching at the grips nervously, but to no avail, he lost his rhythm and plummeted to to mat below.

His limbs flailed as he fell, his harness breaking his fall as he landed at Coach’s feet. The class erupted into laughter at Scott’s defeat, hearing the buzzer at the top being hit as Allison paused at the very top to live up her victory. “Oh, McCall.” Coach Finstock wheezed with a smile, “Your lack of masculinity gives me a certain sense of joy.” Scott got up then, brushing himself off as he took his stance beside his two friends once more. “Okay!” Coach turned toward the crowd. “Next two?”

“Oh!” Stiles gripped Riley’s hand at he pushed his way toward the front of the group. His other arm was stretched high above his head as he waived it frantically. “Us, Coach! Me and Riley!”

Coach eyed the two of them for a second before answering, “You?” He pegged. “And Haven?”

Nodding furiously. “She bet me twenty bucks she’d beat me to the top.” He replied.

Finstock huffed sarcastically as his eyes widened so much, Riley was sure they’d pop right out of his sockets. “I agree,” he added, “there’s no way in hell you’d beat her.” He backtracked with a taunting grin, “As much as I’d love to see you get your ass handed to you, I’m saving Haven to go against Greenberg.” He leaned in then to whisper mockingly. “I’m hoping he’ll cry when he loses.” He stepped back again as he scanned the crowd of kids, “Let’s pair you up with someone a little less threatening, shall we?” He asked, nodding to Stiles before pointing out to a blonde haired girl in the class. “Reyes!”

Watching as Erica seemed to freeze into place, her knees locking in slight terror as she skimmed the height of the wall with an intimidated gaze. Taking quick and short breaths, Erica stumbled forward for her harness fitting.

Stiles remained amped and sure of himself as the timid teenager beside him held onto the grips of the wall with shaking hands. As the coach blew the whistle and Stiles bounded upward eagerly, Erica took a slower approach. Grasping at the rubber nobs one by one, taking a moment to catch her breath in between each incline. Feeling a swell of panic begin to boil within her stomach, the unsteady blonde clamped her teeth together to keep from backing out.

A part of her wanted to prove that she wasn’t the weakling people thought her to be. Erica Reyes wanted to be normal and outgoing like the rest of her peers, but instead remained shy and introverted. It’s what lead to her being easily targeted as a victim of other kids brutality. And despite her feet feeling like lead weights and her palms beginning to sweat, she reached for another rubber grip slowly.

Her obvious discomfort was easy for Riley to see, a first row view as she witnessed the girl’s shoulders begin to quake. An uneasy feeling rattled Riley as she watched Stiles ring the buzzer at the top and begin to scale back down. His partner hadn’t even made it halfway. “You okay, Erica?” Coach called up to her. “Are you dizzy or is it vertigo?”

Lydia huffed from beside Riley, picking at her chipped polish as she hummed, “Vertigo is the disfunction of the vestibular function of the inner ear.” She corrected him with a snarky tone. Lydia waived her hand up at Erica as she now clung to the wall desperately. “She’s just freaking out.”

The red heads lack of sympathy was exactly the kind of behavior that made Erica Reyes so fragile. Riley watched with a helpless tension weaving within her bones as Erica began to get teary eyed. “I’m—I’m fine!” She stammered, though her troubled voice indicated that she was beginning to panic.

With suggestive hands, Coach signaled her to come back down. “Just push off the wall, okay?” He assured her. “There’s a mat here to catch you, just—just let go.” Despite the pit of her stomach telling her to hold on, Erica released the grip one finger at a time until she began to slip down. “There you go!” Coach encouraged. “Easy.”

Her harness lowered her until her feet hit the ground, taking an unsettling breath of air as if her lungs were stunted by her own humiliation. The students around snickered in her direction, laughing at her inability to complete the rock wall. Riley watched with a sad expression as Erica by—passed the other kids with a shaking frame and took a seat by herself upon the bleachers.

The rest of the hour seemed to come in a blur, having gone against Greenberg, Riley had beaten him to the top of the rock wall just like Coach had predicted. And though the rush from climbing to the top left her with a pleasant victory, she still felt this weight begin to burrow inside her chest. Not sure of the source in which it stemmed from, she blamed it on the past weekends troubles.

It felt dangerous to pinpoint it on the lack of respect the student body had for it’s peers, because despite not agreeing with their brutal mockery made for Erica, Riley hadn’t attempted to stop it either. Did that make her part of the problem? Did not stepping up for the victim make her just as bad as the bully? She hated to think so, because she’d never been one to victimize another student.

She’d known Erica for a few months now, often times having paired up with her in gym when no one else wanted to. It wasn't pitty she felt for the girl, but pure and absolute sympathy. Riley felt a swell of relief ease her tension once the Coach blew the whistle to head back to the locker rooms. He followed the boys out as the girls in their class gossiped in small cliques on their way out of the gym.

Riley held the door open for them, looking back into the gym as she watched Erica Reyes standing a few feet away from the rock wall with determined eyes. “You coming?” Riley called back to her once the crowded gym sifted into silence. It was just the two of them now as everyone headed back. She watched as the girl tied back her blonde, frizzy hair into a messy bun and took a deep breath. “Erica?”

Her back was to her, taking measured steps forward as she locked her hands firmly around the rubber grips for the second time. Feeling determined not to prove her strength to her classmates, but to herself, as she began the dangerous climb to the top of the wall without a harness. “Erica!” Riley hissed, her voice echoing throughout the empty gymnasium. She sprinted forward as the door slammed behind her, coming to stand at the foot of the wall. “Erica, get down!”

“I’m fine!” She lied, feeling the anxious roll of her stomach as she urged herself not to look down.

The burning desire to prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid fueled her to go higher than she had before, her fingers numbing from the amount of pressure used to keep herself flush against the wall. “You don’t have to do this,” Riley assured her with a calming voice. She felt more uneasy the higher the epileptic teen went. “You don’t have to prove yourself to those idiots.”

She referred to the kids who laughed at her earlier, though Erica whispered, “It’s not for them,” so low that Riley couldn’t hear. She was doing this for her, because she felt as if she could use this one accomplishment to maybe make herself feel better.

As she passed a third of the way up, a lingering sensation of dizziness began to flutter behind her lids. Her hands began to sweat, her knees locking as if they were too stiff to bend. A familiar taste of metal rose from the back of her throat, a warning sign that she’d gone too far. Her self induced panic attack was now morphing into something worse.

Erica’s limbs began to rattle, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. With teeth clenched so tight, Riley swore she could hear her teeth crack, a seizure worked its way through the girls body.

Watching helplessly as Erica struggled to hold on, nearly forty feet in the air, Riley’s heart pulsed rapidly within her chest. Like waiting for a bomb to detonate, not knowing when, but only that it will. “No.” Riley shook her head to herself, her eyes glazing with fresh intensity, “No, no, no, no, no—“ Her arms instinctively raised, palms up as if it would somehow keep Erica tethered to the wall, but despite Riley’s hope, Erica Reyes’ grip slipped.

Her body shuddered as she leaned back too far, her joints locking into place as she fell back and plummeted toward the ground. Instinctively she took a step back, knowing that she could not catch her, but someone who could stepped forward. Feeling the brush of Scott McCall’s shoulder as he breezed past her, extending his arms out as he caught her just a mere few inches before her body snapped against the tile.

Resting her along the floor gently, Scott cradled her hand as she rode out her seizure.

Easing her onto her side so she would not choke, Scott looked up to Riley with watered eyes. Her features said it all, full of surprise and outright thankfulness as if to ask how he knew. “I could hear her heart beat.” He relayed over Erica’s stunted huffs of air. He’d been close enough to have his abilities pick up on her panicked state of mind, his hands beginning to shake as if he could detect something bad were going to happen. Him being there to catch her saved her life, otherwise Erica would have ended up hurt or even worse . . . _dead._

 

###

###

 

Despite having felt energetic throughout the day, after the incident with Erica, it left Riley feeling drained. An ambulance had taken her to the Hospital for further evaluation, and the whole thing had seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth. It was harder after school, having to go to work when she couldn’t quite shake the memory of seeing the girls tense body plummet to the ground. She couldn't have imagined what would have happened if Scott hadn’t of sensed it, because she knew it would have left her traumatized.

And her friends, in an attempt at distressing after the long school day, had gone to the skate rink without her. Though it had seemed like fun, being a fifth wheel did not. Scott, Allison, Stiles and Lydia had all gone and Riley did not want to be the odd one out. Even if she could have gone, she figured that she wouldn't have. Having fun after a day like that did not seem feasible.

Getting through work seemed like an accomplishment in itself as she got home around eleven at night. Feeling achey and tired, Riley fell face first into her bed the moment she’d gotten home. Hoping that the stress of the day would coax her asleep, it wasn't long before she realized that it would take a lot more than the days hardships to get some shut eye. Getting a full nights rest seemed unattainable these past few months, and any amount of sleep was gladly welcomed.

The next morning at school, it all felt trivial, as if her classes were not as important as they should have been.

It was during the first few minutes of lunch, as Riley was putting her books inside her locker, that she got the strangest sensation. The hairs on the back of her neck rising as if she could feel someone watching her. With slow and precise movements, Riley glanced over her shoulder to see a pair of warm brown, doe—like eyes strained on her.

They belonged to a girl, with long and luscious lashes coated in dark black. Her lips were plump and red, pulled back over a devious smile. With a furrowed brow, Riley recognized Erica Reyes, but she did not look like the typical version she was use to seeing. Her frizzy hair was curled into loose and sexy ringlets, her skin cleared of all her previous blemishes as her slender hips were draped in a tight, leather skirt. This girl was dripping in confidence, not shy and timid like she usually was.

Erica grinned at her before pushing away from the lockers she’d been leaning upon, and headed down the hallway. Her heels clicked against the tile, an invitation for Riley to follow her.

She bolted after her with a quick pace, seeing her disappear through the exit doors towards the parking lot. Erica seemed extremely unusual following her seizure the previous day, leaving Riley in disbelief as she pushed through the double doors hastily, her hazel eyes skimming the parking lot for the girl.

Erica seemed to strut toward a running car against the curb. It was sleek and black and familiar. The engine revved as she got inside the passenger seat of a Camaro, not having to see the driver to know who it was before it took off toward the main road.

At first it was surprise that flooded Riley’s lungs, but it quickly turned to anger as she realized what this meant. Theorizing the only possible conclusion to Derek and Erica even knowing each other made her hands clench into fists, feeling her skin lather with heat as she turned back on her heels and toward the cafeteria in search of her friends.

Derek had turned Isaac into a werewolf in hopes of building a pack . . .

What if Erica was his second Beta?

She found Scott and Stiles situated at a table, scrambling to pull her chair out as she rushed to spill her words. “We have a problem!” She huffed. “A huge problem!” Stiles paused with a mouthful of curly fries, looking to her intently as Riley situated herself beside Scott. “I just saw Erica Reyes get into Derek Hale’s car.”

It came as an initial shock to the boys, looking to each other incredulously. “What?” Scott pegged.

“She seemed different today.” She relayed with honesty. “Like a made—up Barbie doll.”

“She couldn't have gotten that hot over night.” Stiles added despite Riley’s look of unapproval.

“Unless . . . “ Scott trailed off, peeking to them both with nervous eyes. “Derek changed her.” He remembered how he felt after he was bitten. The unshakable nerve of feeling something more. Being more confident, more alert, stronger and untouchable. “Why would he do that, though?”

Riley frowned as she gripped the edge of the table, hearing Stiles speak up. “He’s building a pack, ya know, and maybe he’s going after teenagers with shitty lives.” He looked to them insistently. “First Isaac, now Erica—“

“Why go after teenagers in the first place?” Riley interjected, wondering why Derek didn’t seek out people his own age. He was only two years older than Riley, but still . . .

“Maybe teenagers have a better chance at surviving the bite?” Scott theorized.

Riley felt her fingers press against the temples of her head. “He’s not going to stop at just two, is he?” Scott shook his head, figuring the Alpha would seek out more Beta’s to build his pack. “Then whose next?” She wondered feverishly.

“Guys?” Stiles asked, his eyes set off in the distance. “I just noticed something.” He inclined his head across the cafeteria, to an empty table. It’s usual occupant was not there. “That’s Boyd’s table.” He prompted, knowing that the kid always ate lunch by himself. He was a loner, introverted to the max, so much so that people never really noticed him. “He’s never missed a day of school.”

Scott blinked while in deep thought. “Doesn’t he work at the ice rink?” To which Stiles nodded. “Okay,” he breathed, “it could be a coincidence and it could not be. You,” Scott looked to Stiles, “Go to Boyd’s house after school and see if he’s there. Riley and I will check the rink. If Derek’s really making a pack, we have to find out why.”

 

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The ice rink’s lobby was undeniably chilly, causing Riley to pull her jacket closer around her chest as both she and Scott entered the front door. The rink was typically closed on Tuesdays until seven, when they opened the doors for skating, leaving it almost entirely vacant. The lights were still dimmed, the concession stands eerily deserted as Scott paused so suddenly. Straining his ears, his eyes shut in order to focus on the rhythmic pattern of a pulse. “What do you hear?” She asked quietly, her eyes continously skimming the lobby of the rink with an anxious expression.

Scott relaxed then, coming to terms with his ability to sense someone else nearby. “Heart beat.”

He was the first to break forward, heading toward the iced over rink as if he already knew who to expect. Pushing the double doors open, the room expanded into an encircled bed of ice. A buzzing sound came from the other side, seeing a calm faced kid drive the ice tractor along the edge of the rink. Boyd did not acknowledge them at first, continuing his path upon his heavy machinery like he was suppose to do.

His olive toned skin seemed to strain against his camouflaged hoodie, his patience impeccable as he smoothed the ice over for the upcoming night. “Boyd!” Scott called, his voice a booming echo in comparison to the engine of the tractor. Without any hesitancy, he stepped onto the icy rink with his sneakers, trailing ahead toward the boy. Riley followed, the rubber soles from her combat boots keeping her firmly planted. “I just want to talk!” Scott said once Boyd looked up, cutting the ignition to his machine.

There was something different about him that Scott could sense, the undeniable shift of Boyd’s scent from when he was human. And that’s exactly what he wasn’t, Scott noted to himself, able to smell the fresh scab beginning to heal on what he assumed to be a werewolf bite. And it surprised him to find himself growing discouraged by the truthfulness to what he and his friends had already assumed . . . Derek had targeted Boyd as a new addition to his pack.

“Did he tell you everything?” Scott demanded, his onyx colored hair was cropped shorter than last month, when it use to be shaggy, but it still somehow hung barely over his brows. “And not just about the full moons,” he clarified once they got closer, “I mean everything.”

Riley and Scott paused a few feet away from Boyd as he remained perched on top of his machine. Despite being the loner everyone thought him to be, he was more familiar with Scott and Riley than either of them knew. “He told me about the hunters.” Boyd assured, his widened features simmered into a a soft expression.

Boyd’s voice was rather hard, but his tone had always been too kind for his own good.

Unable to understand his reasoning, Scott squared his jaw with disbelief. “And that wasn’t enough to say no?” He wondered, his eyes slanted into accusing slits. “There are other ways to get what you want.” He promised him, alluding to the fact that perhaps Derek was not the answer to his problems.

With a small roll of his eyes, Boyd clasped his hand into a fist. “I just want to not eat lunch alone everyday.” He remarked.

Unsure if it was the chilliness in the air, or the desperation in Boyd’s voice, Riley felt her skin break into a shudder. Taking a determined step forward, she placed herself in toe with Scott as she looked to the boy with promise. “If it’s friends you want,” she murmured, motioning to herself and Scott, “then we can be your friend, Boyd.” Hoping she could persuade him to not overlook her offer, she watched him silently shake his head.

His timid nature, despite his burly form, is what caused people to cast him out. A scapegoat for humiliation, and all this time Boyd just needed a friend. He needed someone to be there for him, much like Isaac and Erica had too. Boyd thought he could overcome the obstacles in his life with a simple bite, not knowing that Derek’s eager attempt at persuading him was biased.

How sad was it to live in a world where being a monster was better than being alone?

“If you wanted friends,” Scott followed up, “You could do a lot better than Derek.”

Despite the need to stick up for the Alpha, she knew Scott was right. “Ouch.” A mocking voice rang as both Scott and Riley turned on their heels at the sound. “That comment actually really hurt.” Derek Hale had his palm over his heart, feigning sadness as if he’d somehow grown the charm of sarcasm overnight. He was flanked by his freshly turned Beta’s, Isaac and Erica as they smiled willfully behind him. “If you’re going to review my status as an Alpha,” the corner of his lips pulled up, glancing to Riley for the briefest moment before glaring back at Scott, “At least take a consensus.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the bombshell of a blonde to his left. “Erica?” He asked, “How has life been for you since we’ve met?”

Erica Reyes squinted into the distance, twirling her golden hair around her finger. “In one word?” She hummed, tilting her head in Riley and Scott’s direction with a confident smile. “Transformative.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her lips spread wider to accommodate the fangs that slipped from within her gums. She used a low growl bubbling in her chest to intimidate Riley and Scott, her eyes shifting to a yellow halo around her pupils.

Seeing Erica shift so suddenly caused Riley to step back, able to feel the slight fear radiating from her, Derek then motioned to Isaac, prompting him to answer as well. The sandy curls of his hair were wind blown, his tall frame hunched casually as he shrugged. “I’m a little bummed about being a fugitive,” he answered with candor, “but other than that I’m great.”

Feeling a wave of nausea flood her chest as she heard him speak, Riley clenched her teeth together to keep her boiling emotions at bay. “Great?” She repeated him with distain, her voice low and gruff, “Do you guys not understand that there are hunters,” she enunciated, “actively seeking out werewolves all over town?”

Coming to the defense of his Beta’s, Derek stepped in. “They’ll learn to defend themselves.”

Hearing the absolute ignorance file from his mouth, Riley felt her hands quiver with the amount of anger gathering beneath her skin. “That’ll be hard to do with a bullet in their head!” Her intention was never meant to come across as so blunt, but she couldn’t help it once she spoke. It didn’t matter that Derek had come to some kind of agreement with Chris Argent. It didn’t matter that Kate was dead. Their father, Gerard, was less forgiving then either of them combined.

Scott saw Isaac and Erica share a quick glance, as if Riley’s words had some form of truth behind them. “I think they can take care of themselves.” Derek spoke as if it were a promise more than a fact, stepping back a few feet to allow Erica and Isaac to move forward. It was his sign to let them show just how much he’s taught them already.

Without even having to ask them, like their minds were somehow connected, Isaac and Erica took small measured steps in Scott’s direction. Their claws were sprung, teeth bared and eyes glowing. Scott could feel the tension budding between him in the Beta’s, knowing exactly what Derek was ordering them to do. He took four steps forward as well, breaking his distance away from Riley as he planned to meet the Beta’s half way.

“This isn’t exactly a fair fight.” Scott noted as his own eyes shifted a bright yellow.

Derek chuckled, though their was no humor in his gaze. “Then go home.”

Scott shook his head, his rigid fingers curving into claws as his lips curled over his fangs. “I meant fair for them.” He corrected himself, nodding to the two Beta’s beginning to circle around him, aching to allow the new monster burrowing inside their chest out.

Riley’s legs backtracked, feeling the cold metal of the tractor flush against her back. “St—Stop!” She willed herself to command, though her stuttering plea was lost in the feverish snarls of the three Beta’s.

Knowing all to well that the two Beta’s would not last against Scott, having more experience than them made it certain they couldn’t win. And though she knew Scott could get hurt, it was already certain that Boyd and Erica would walk away wounded. It was Isaac who lunged at Scott first, though the Beta’s reflexes were in no way comparable to his, Scott blocked his advance with a firm shove against his chest.

Isaac was merely a distraction, watching as Erica positioned herself out of Scott’s sight as she raked the sharpened edge of her claws across Scott’s back.

Huffing at the searing sting, Scott’s knees buckled for a fraction of a second before his arm darted out, his palm encircling her shoulder as his leg swung her feet out from beneath her. Erica toppled to the ice below with a hard thud, a groan slipping from her lips. At seeing her go down, Isaac lunged again, so feral in comparison to the sweet boy Riley once associated him as.

His skills as a newly turned werewolf were not steady, lashing out from anger instead of in a skillful way. Derek hadn’t taught him much in the way of fighting yet, but Isaac had grown up endlessly needing to defend himself against his father. Using brute force to inflict pain, he hadn’t obtained the knowledge to analyze his opponent they way Scott had.

Ducking out of reach as Isaac carelessly thrashed his claws at Scott, he was able to gain the upper hand easier than Derek’s Beta. Able to identify Isaac’s lunge before he had even decided to do so, Scott’s hand clasped around the boys throat, constricting for the slightest second before thrusting him back. Isaac landed at Derek’s feet, his own hand reaching up to rub away the lingering grip of Scott’s fist. “Don’t you get it?” Scott seethed, looking between Isaac and Erica. “Derek’s not doing this for you!” He muttered breathlessly. “He’s doing it to add to his own power! He’s made you feel like he’s given you some kind of gift,” he snarled, “but all he’s doing is turn you into a bunch of guard dogs!”

Isaac and Erica slowly got back to their feet, their eyes full of embarrassment at having clearly lost the brawl. But it was Derek who stepped forward now, nodding his head as some kind of way to agree with Scott. “You’re right,” he assured, taking leisurely steps toward Scott, “It is about power.”

His arms stretched out to his side, his nails elongating as a vengeful shade of red encircled his eyes. Riley could see that he was dead set on on Scott’s path, her legs feeling as if they were made of iron as she willed herself forward in her friends defense. By passing Scott, taking long and rushed strides as she used her own body to dissuade Derek’s advance. “Stop.” She arguably demanded, though it came out in a whisper at first. Ignoring her the first time, Riley rose her voice as she raised her palms in a way to calm him. “Stop it, Derek.”

But the Alpha’s narrowed gaze was burning red with anger, fueling him as he sauntered forward. It was Isaac and Erica who pulled Riley aside, their hands interlocking around her arms as they yanked her from the center of the brewing fight. “Let go of me!” She hissed, tugging her limbs from their iron grips to no avail.

As the two Beta’s restrained her, her features hardened into a horrified expression.

Scott stood firmly, not backing down as Derek took the first swing. At the sound of his knuckles colliding with Scott’s jaw, she clasped her eyes shut and turned her head away. Wishing she could somehow turn her ears off to the sound, the echo of Scott McCall’s grunts weaving beneath her skin caused her eyes to begin to burn.

Scott would not fair against an Alpha. Especially one as skilled as Derek Hale.

The crunching of bone caused her knees to grow weak, feeling faint as if the Beta’s had to hold her in place. Riley’s chin tucked against her chest, using her hair as a curtain to block the violence budding before her. Flinching at the sounds emanating from her friend, not having to see to know that Scott was losing.

It had felt like an eternity, being caught within their grasp, but it wasn’t until she heard a thud, the ice quaking gently beneath her feet that the rink finally settled into silence. The Beta’s hold on her eased, her eyes snapping open so quick that it made her head light with dizziness. It was Scott who she saw first, on his stomach, strewn across the ice as if he were a rag—doll. A crimson fluid seeped from his nose, collecting in the creases of his lips before finally spilling from his chin and landing on the stark white ice below.

He did not get up right away, leading Riley to believe the damage had to of been more substantial than what she could see.

From her peripheral, Derek stalked back toward the exit. His leather clad shoulders were relaxed, as if he were pleased with overpowering a werewolf with less than a quarter of the experience he’d had.

Something clambered inside her body, her chest heaving with rage as she broke into a sprint after the Alpha. Her anger was brought on by the audacity of his choice, catching up to him with her palms rigid as if she were going to shove him. Feeling her creep up on him, Derek paused, turning to face her as his firm hand enclasped her wrist before her fist could make contact with him.

He enclasped it so tight that her fingertips went numb, but the flood of hatred boiling within her eyes assured him her anger was toward him. “Are you fucking crazy?” She snarled, her skin deepening with creases that depicted her frustration. “He’s just trying to help.”

Able to identify the emotion emanating from her, Derek found that he could not control his tempered state as he lashed out at her. “Who is he helping?” He demanded, his blue—green eyes darker than Riley remembered.

Subconsciously knowing that he was hurting her, Riley’s lack of response to his grip only made him that more aware. “He’s trying to help the teenagers you’re turning!” She concluded with a harsh voice. Derek had never seen her this defensive before. “Does it make you feel good, Derek?” She seethed, eyeing him up and down with distain. “Beating up a sixteen year old?”

“I defended my pack.” He corrected her. “That’s what an Alpha does.”

Finally beginning to process the constricted grip Derek kept on her wrist, Riley tore her hand from his grasp. “Yeah?” She spit, backing away with wet, hazel eyes. “Well, you’re a shitty excuse for one.” She remarked relentlessly. Derek could physically feel the amount of truth twisted within her words, seeing her trace her steps back to the rink, back to Scott McCall’s side. And even after she was long gone, her voice still somehow echoed inside his head, bringing forth the doubt he felt about being a leader.


	15. Near Death Experience pt. 1

The extent of Scott’s injuries seemed much worse than Riley had expected. His labored breathing did not seem to ease once she loaded him into the back of his mothers car, taking the drivers seat with shaking hands. Four lacerations across his chest from Derek’s claws seeped with blood, staining the forest green t—shirt beneath Scott’s jacket. And as he struggled to tell her where to take him, she knew a Hospital was out of the question. The nurses would be fairly surprised to see his once fresh wounds heal within a matter of time.

He’d told her to take him to the animal clinic, knowing that Deaton’s self owned and operated business would be a confined spot to allow Scott to heal. Riley did not question him when he told her where to go, trusting his judgement despite the pained expression spread across his face. They hadn’t heard from Stiles, knowing that going to Boyd’s house in search for him would be a dead end, considering the freshly bitten Beta was already on Derek’s side.

The roads seemed quiet as Riley pulled off the main roads and into the parking lot of the Veterinary Hospital.

Lacing Scott’s arm over her shoulder, helping bare his weight as she lead him inside, she found it difficult to keep him upright. With deep wounds carved within his skin, they would have killed any normal human being. A ding sounded from the front entrance as Riley carried him inside, seeking comfort in the warmth of the lobby as she heard Deaton’s voice carry from the back of the clinic. “We’re closed!”

Ignoring him, she bypassed the lobby and to the door leading to where his voice had carried from. “Even for him?” She asked breathlessly, dragging Scott’s weak form into the clear view of Scott’s boss. Thinking that Deaton would be surprised to see them, it was Riley that felt stunned. Her eyes did not gravitate to the doctor, but to the human corpse spread among his metal observation table.

With a quick pace, Deaton took the weight of Scott’s frame onto his own, having been deeply worried when he hadn’t shown up for his shift. “What happened?” He asked, his voice full of concern and willingness to respond. But Riley found that her own voice was stuck in her throat, unable to take her eyes off the exhumed body of a man spread across the back wall of Deatons office. And though she’d interrupted him during an observatory study, he did not bring up the dead body in the room. “Riley?” He asked again, leaning Scott against the counter as his nimble and quick fingers raised the werewolf’s shirt. “What happened?”

His tone seemed commanding then, tearing her eyes away from the body as she blinked back hastily to recollect her thoughts. “H—he,” but her words would still not come out, despite clearing her throat for the second time.

“It was Derek Hale.” Scott mumbled, squinting harshly as a riptide of searing pain clustered within his lungs.

Deaton studied the wounds for a moment, his eyed affirmative and knowledgable as he nodded the slightest bit. “From an Alpha.” He stated, to Riley’s surprise. She hadn’t known Deaton was aware of the supernatural world. “They’ll take longer to heal.” He confirmed, reaching for a cotton ball upon his counter and a bottle of clear liquid. Deaton held it firmly among the wounds, dabbing the fresh lacerations with patience as Scott hissed at the alcohol beginning to burn. “You don’t want it to get infected, do you?” He asked, to which the Beta shook his head with tired eyes.

Scott reached for a tissue then, dabbing at the blood expelling from his nose as he eyed the body that Riley now seemed to try her best to ignore. Deaton could see the questions igniting within his employee’s eyes, worried that perhaps he’d gain the wrong impression if he did not address the elephant within the room. “The Argent’s will be back for the body any minute,” he assured, “which means we don’t have long to talk.”

The body of a young, hispanic male was precisely laid across the table. Shirtless from the waist up, Riley could make out the distinct and decaying marks of deeply embedded slashes into it’s chest. “He was a hunter.” Scott assumed, to which Deaton nodded. “What happened to him?” His voice was hoarse, filled with lingering pain as he perked at the sudden change of topic.

“I don’t know yet.” Deaton clarified. “What I do know, is that whatever did this didn’t just kill him.” His tone was cryptic and conclusive as Riley rose a brow. “He was paralyzed with some kind of toxin that rendered him inoperable of his own body, causing him to remain defenseless as something tore into him.”

A sweeping chill clustered down Riley’s spine, keeping her eyes adverted as she looked to Deaton instead. “How do you know all of this?” She pegged, wondering how long he’s known about the things that went bump in the night.

Deaton’s dark skin seemed to illuminate beneath the florescent lights above as his lips creased gently. “It’s a long story.” He confirmed, “What I can tell you,” gesturing to Scott, “is that I know about your kind. Your kind,” he elaborated, “I can help.” He then pointed to the body of the hunter, “Whatever killed him . . . It’s something different.”

“And you have no idea what ‘it’ is?” Scott asked.

“No,” Deaton agreed, “but the Argent’s will. They’ll have a record book, depictions, stories and histories of all the things they’ve discovered throughout their long reign of hunters.”

Riley frowned, her hands trembling. “All the things? _How many more monsters are there?_ ”

“You wouldn’t want to know.” He confirmed.

 

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Waking the next morning for school seemed unbearable, considering ditching as she grumpily gathered her bag and headed for the bus stop. Still worked up about the previous day, it seemed to be Riley’s reoccurring nightmare of the scaled monster that pushed her over her groggy threshold. Why were these dreams so vivid, and more importantly, happening almost every night? She couldn't make sense of it, allowing it to eat away at her throughout the entire school day.

Not surprised by Scott being absent, she figured he’d need the extra day to regain his strength. Deaton had said that wounds from an Alpha typically took longer to heal, and Riley pondered why that was nearly the whole day. Was it because of an Alpha’s power? Unsure of either, that thought only reminded her of the asshole who’d targeted Scott in the first place. A part of her couldn’t fathom what it was that ever made her sympathize with Derek Hale. He was unforgiving and a menace as far as Riley was concerned, figuring his cockiness stemmed from his superiority complex.

Power didn’t make someone invincible. Power only ever fed the greediness festering inside.

And as her thoughts shifted back and forth between each pressing issue, she still couldn’t shake the traumatizing sight of the dead body she’d seen last night. The one of the hunter, having been nearly torn apart for reasons even Deaton couldn’t explain. Riley was deep in thought as the final school bell rang, heading for the bus stop when someone caught her shoulder. “Hey!” A cheery voice hummed, turning to see the freckled face of Stiles. “You okay?” He asked as he walked with her toward the parking lot. “You seemed pretty out of it all day.”

“Yeah.” Riley lied, a fake laugh covering up the fact that he was right. “I’m fine.”

They walked beside each other in a slow pace, though Stiles could visibly see her deep set eyes. It was a practical signal that she was indeed, not fine. “If this is about what happened yesterday,” he began, but the look upon Riley’s face suggested that maybe he shouldn’t bring it up.

“I’m just tired.” She covered up again, though this time it wasn’t a lie.

Stiles nodded in understanding, knowing all too well how that felt. “You getting enough sleep?”

She shrugged, clutching her books closer to her chest. “Only when I’m not having crippling nightmares.” She remarked, joking about it as if it were something funny. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

He paused his adjoining steps, looking to her suspiciously. “What kind of nightmares?”

Feeling uncomfortable with the sudden direction of their discussion, she felt as if a heavy spotlight were casted upon her. Did he fully expect for her to go into full detail? By the look on his expectant face, he did. “It’s stupid.” She confirmed, scratching the back of her neck timidly, but Stiles was relentless. “It’s just the same one over and over again.” She rose her stiff shoulder. “I’m being chased by that weird, bi—pedal lizard.”

She cringed at how dumb she must have sounded, but Stiles followed up with a nod and a speculative, ‘Huh’. “Giant lizard—people, eh?” He laughed, just as Riley had suspected he would. “Usually I have nightmares of forgetting to wear pants to school and killer clowns in sewer drains, but you know, everyones different.” It was more of a question than an attempt to comfort her, unsure of how to proceed the conversation without somehow mocking her.

At that, Riley rolled her eyes and sighed with an annoyed smile, shoving him lightly with one hand. “I told you it was dumb.”

“No. No!” His voice heightened in an attempt to quickly disprove her theory. “I’d lose sleep too.”

Feeling a tension begin to accumulate, Riley filled the silence with reckless rambling. “I don’t know, it’s just been putting me on edge lately and making my anxiety soar sky—fucking—high.”

“It’s normal.” He reassured, though he wasn’t completely confident in saying so.

Riley nodded once, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Is the overwhelming fear that something bad is going to happen, normal?” She asked, though her voice ended in a short chuckle.

“In this town,” Stiles huffed, “Absolutely.” They stopped at his Jeep then as he fumbled for the keys inside his pocket. “You wanna go with me to the repair shop?” He asked, turning to look at her. “I gotta get a new alternator.” He patted the hood of his baby blue prized possession. Riley shook her head, reminding him that she had work tonight before he offered to drop her off on his way there.

 

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With her shift coming to a close faster than she’d expected, Riley finished up her closing duties with a mindful expression. Not wanting to feel pressured to keep her expressions together for the customers sake, she felt able to relax as she wiped down the counter and counted down the drawer with what she could only assume was an annoyed look. Not having anything to do with her job, she blamed it on the pulsing memory of Derek Hale beating up Scott McCall.

It was almost as if she expected a direct call from the Alpha herself with a heartfelt apology, but she knew something like that would never come. He’d never admit to being in the wrong, even when he so clearly was.

He’d blamed it on protecting his Beta’s, but Riley felt as if it were much more than that.

It had to be.

A personal attack on the Beta because he hadn’t joined his pack either. She hated repeating his words inside her head, and so she refocused herself on her duties as she locked up the coffee shop and headed toward home on foot. The streets were silent, as they usually were at this hour. It rounded to nearly ten—thirty at night now, her eyes on wide alert as she hugged her jacket just a tad bit closer to her frame.

The weather was slightly bitter for February, nothing like how she assumed the weather was back in San Diego. In a way, she missed the warmth of the buzzing city. She was now subjected to a spine chilling tremor of Beacon Hills . . . The comparison was no competition. Perhaps it had more to do with the lack of supernatural monsters terrorizing the place she once called home, and as Riley rounded the corner toward the rural part of town, she agreed that that had been a key factor.

But maybe it had and she’d just been blind to it. Maybe every city and small town had it’s own secrets. Maybe Werewolves and Lizard—people roamed the streets dressed like ordinary people just to fool their fellow citizens. Riley wouldn’t put it past those types of monsters. And especially with something new lurking within their town, Riley couldn’t help but despise the divide brewing between Derek’s pack and Scott’s. If anything, it felt like now was the time to stand united in order to find out what they were really up against. But could both of these packs see eye to eye enough to come to an agreement? She figured not.

Derek Hale was too hard headed. Too stubborn to view anything from another point of view. She’d learned this in the three months she’d known him.

If there was anything she knew about Derek, it was these three things; first, he was tough. Though she figured it was more of an actual act than a physical representation, she knew he felt fear the same way she did. Second, he was an asshole. Again, most likely another front he put up in order to scare off anyone too annoyed by him to get close. And thirdly, he was broken. So unbearably twisted from the inside out due to the things in his life he’d been dealt.

Riley’s thoughts cut short then as a flash of red and blue lights came into sight a few blocks up ahead.

Subconsciously, her pace quickened as if she were drawn to the police cars barricading in a small, local business. Recognizing the Sheriff’s police cruiser, the sign for Earl’s Auto Shop came into view.

A swell of panic inflated within her lungs, her knee’s feeling as if they’d buckle beneath her weight if she did not move fast enough. Along with the police cars was a coroner’s van, the back end open as she watched a bagged body being loaded into the open end of the vehicle. A full sprint entrapped her long legs, her breathing coming in short and shallow spurts as her eyes roamed the crowd of police officers pacing among the opened garage, where a powder blue Jeep was hoisted on a jack.

Fleeing from the safety of the side walk, her intuition guided her forward with wild eyes and stunted lungs. As her eyes scanned the faces around her, she could not identify the one belonging to her friend. Her sprint came to a sudden halt, feeling a secure lock of someones hands envelop her arms. Peering up into the aged, but handsome, face of Sheriff John Stilinski. “Whoa! Whoa!” He caught her darting gaze with his. “This is a crime scene, kid.”

“Where is he?” She croaked, her voice just above a frantic whisper. “Where’s Stiles?”

John Stilinski understood then, seeing her try an piece together the crime scene as if she’d linked the dead body to the owner of the Jeep. He recognized Riley then as one of his son’s friends, one of the two he ever seemed to bring home. “He’s fine.” He assured with a tight squeeze of his hands around her forearms. “Scott came to pick him up.”

He inclined his head toward the far end of the parking lot, seeing a withered down, brown Mazda parked alongside the curb. It was Melissa McCall’s car, but she could clearly see Stiles and Scott idling at the trunk in a deep conversation.

Without even thinking, she pulled away from John’s grasp and took long and quick strides in their direction. Scott noticed her first, nodding at her as a way of acknowledgement until she hastily threw her arms around an unsuspecting Stiles’ neck. Shocked at first, it took him a second to react before wrapping his arms loosely around her waist in return. “What the fuck happened?” She asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder until she pulled away.

“That little reptilian—person you dreamed about?” Stiles asked with hint of fear gleaming within his whiskey colored eyes. “The one Allison saw. The one dozens of people are calling into the station about?” He didn’t wait for Riley to nod her head before continuing, “I saw it too. And it’s just as freaking—terrifying as I'd imagined.”

The pale faced, freckled teen seemed unharmed. His rigid hands scratched the back of his neck, shooting nervous glances to the coroners van every few seconds. “It killed the mechanic.” Scott looked to her pointedly before glancing once to Stiles with concern. “Remember what Deaton said about the hunter that had been killed last night?” He asked pointedly at her. “How whatever had killed him had used a paralytic toxin to render him helpless?”

With narrowed eyes and a squared jaw, Riley slowly nodded. Unable to really forget the sight of the corpse splayed over Deaton’s clinic table, it’s torso torn to shreds from it’s hips to shoulders. “Let’s just say I was rendered helpless.” Stiles huffed uncomfortably.

He shuddered at the memory.

Of how the waiting room inside the repair shop’s door handle had been covered in a gray, translucent—like goo. The way it had covered his hands, and within seconds, without understanding what was happening, he’d lost control of his motor functions. He’d fallen to the ground, frozen in place as if he’d been anchored to the floorboards below. And from his position, he could see the monster everyone had talked about, attacking the repair shop guy before lowering the jack with his Jeep on top down until it had crushed his whole body.

“The same thing that killed the hunter,” Riley gathered, “it killed him too.” She traced her gaze over the crime scene ahead, feeling her throat tighten once she could make out the puddle of blood spread along the cement inside the garage. “Whatever it is, it’s not like you, Scott.”

Stiles nodded his head once in agreement. “Not at all. It’s eyes are almost reptilian—like . . . “ He trailed off quietly then, bringing his thumb to his mouth as he chewed on the skin around his nail bed. It was a nervous habit he’d never been able to break. “There was just something about them,” he continued as he glanced to both of his friends quickly, “like when you see a friend in a Halloween mask, but you can only see their eyes.” He huffed lightly, almost a sigh of disbelief. “That feeling you get when you feel like you know them, but you can’t quite figure out why?”

Scott frowned, “Are you saying you know who it was?”

Shaking his head before Scott could even finish, “No.” He elaborated. “But I think it knew me.”

 

###

###

 

The next day caused a wave of paranoia, feeling as if she needed to keep an eye over her shoulder at all times. It wasn’t that she was sure the monster would be lurking behind her, but the fear of what it’s human form could be. Stiles had made it known that perhaps the monster was someone that they knew, and it made it that much more difficult to go about her day without calculating the odds of her fellow classmates being a homicidal lizard when the sun went down.

And if someone as fragile as Stiles was targeted, that only made her feel that much more on edge. What was stopping it from coming after her next? And if it ever did, how could she stop it? How could she protect herself the way Scott could? Her Werewolf friends had been right in the beginning when he’d said that her knowing the truth would put a target on her back.

It kept her up late at night, feeling as if she was never truly alone.

Riley opted for sitting at an open table outside at lunch, hoping the fresh air would clear her mind of all the lurking thoughts. Unable to find the nerve to eat, she opted for finishing her Chemistry homework from the night before. “You mind if I sit with you?” A charming voice asked.

Looking up from her notebook, clutching the pen she’d been chewing on, she nodded shyly to Allison Argent as the beautiful brunette took a seat beside her. Not having really spoken with the hunter since the night of the formal, she smiled as if it were an invitation for her to come back into her life. Confused as to why she wasn’t sitting with Lydia, Riley shrugged it off as she watched Allison pick at her turkey sandwich with a serene expression.

It was as if all that was happening recently didn’t bother her. Perhaps that wasn't the truth at all, but she had an easier way of concealing her emotions in a way Riley couldn’t quite figure out. Having had to learn how to do so the hard way, with pretending like her father demanding she never see Scott again wasn’t such a bad thing. And maybe that wasn’t either, considering the two of them still snuck around as often as they could.

But Allison had a strength about her that Riley envied. After just losing her aunt, serial killer or not, she didn’t let the town gossip of Kate Argent get to her. Remembering the night of the formal and how she’d stepped up in such a brave way to stop Peter Hale made Riley glance at her with a curious stare. “What?” The square jawed and dimpled cheek teen asked. “Is there something in my teeth?”

The hunter held a hand over her mouth in embarrassment, Riley sighed with a small smile. “No.” She shook her head, looking back down at her text book as she tried to find a correct way to phrase her words. “How are you so . . .” she trailed off with a timid look, “How do you do it?” She rephrased. “Act like everything thats happening,” Riley leaned in as she whispered the last part, “doesn’t bother you?”

Shocked by her question, Allison sat back carefully as she pursed her naturally mauve lips.

She’d never thought about how she did it, only that she had to. “My father taught me to compartmentalize.” She said after a long few moments of silence. “To see everything from a tactical point of view.” Allison may have only been seventeen, but she was so much more aware than Riley. “He’s been teaching me a lot, actually.” She confessed with a twitch of her lips.

About to ask another question, she was interrupted by the haste—filled breaths of Stiles Stilinski as he sprinted to them at full force, using the edge of the table to brace his sudden halt. Wheezing as if he’d just run a mile, he looked to Allison with frantic eyes. “Hey!” He huffed. “Does your psychotic grandfather have a book or anything that talks about your family history?”

“A book?” Allison furrowed a brow.

Nodding feverishly, “Yes! Like a bestiary?” His sudden interest had caught them both off guard. “Maybe old and worn—“

“Like, bound in leather?” She pressed.

“Bound in leather is good!” He urged, waiving his arms out frantically. “Have you seen one?” She nodded swiftly, to which Stiles breathed heavily before jutting a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to go tell Scott! Don’t go anywhere!”

He turned then, bounding off toward the court yard with stumbling legs and flailing arms. Shooting a confused look after him, Allison simply shrugged her shoulder. “He’s been acting as Scott and I’s messenger ever since my grandfather took over the roll as a fill in for the principle.” Riley nodded, remembering the sudden change although she hadn’t personally seen Gerard Argent in the flesh quite yet.

Despite her curiosity on that topic as well, she did not pry. Not yet at least.

“So,” Riley shifted her position on the bench as she turned to face her friend, “You said that your dad has been training you. Like—what? To be a hunter?” Trying to sound less interested than she truly was, afraid that maybe Allison would question her motives.

But Allison was polite and informative as she retold her lessons on self—defense and archery. Her father, Chris Argent, had vowed to teach her what he knew since the happenings of the night of the formal dance. Knowing he couldn’t shield her from the truth anymore, he figured he’d ensure his daughters safety as much as a father could.

Able to identify the worried crease between Riley’s brows, Allison prodded for her own information. “Are you okay?” She asked, analyzing the purple bruise—like shadows beneath her eyes and the anxiety ridden gnaw of her lip.

Not wanting to lie, she answered truthfully. “With everything thats been going on,” Riley recounted, “I can’t help but feel like I’m next, you know?”

Allison’s lips parted as if she were going to speak, but Stiles quickly approached again with flaring nostrils and shallow gasps for air. Running from one end of the school to the other to simply relay information seemed like a lot of physical work. “Where.” Stiles panted. “Does your grandfather.” He huffed between phrases, “Keep it?”

With a look of deep concentration, Allison though to herself quietly before replying. “I doubt he’d keep it at home where anyone could find it.” She informed him. “Maybe in his office?”

Stiles nodded once before turning on his heels and sprinting back toward the lunch room.

Watching him with worried eyes, Allison considered why Riley must have felt as if there were a target on her back. “Does what you’re feeling have anything to do with what happened to Stiles?” She wondered, looking to her with patient, doe—like, brown eyes.

Not wanting to admit it, but she simply could not deny it. Nodding her head with a stiff expression, she toyed with the pen in her hands to keep herself occupied. “Whatever it was that paralyzed him,” she murmured, “It got me thinking about how defenseless I am.” Laughing humorlessly at her own words, she realized just how pathetic she must have sounded to the girl seated beside her. “I have this feeling like something bad is coming,” she muttered, “and I’m not ready for it.”

Allison nodded sympathetically. “I use to feel like that.” She confessed. “Like a damsel in distress. Powerless.” She strained her eyes on her full plate of food, feeling as if their conversation was headed to a meaningful point. “After what happened at the Hale house,” unable to physically mention the death of her aunt, “I told my dad I didn’t want to feel like that anymore.”

“Do you—“ The words formed meticulously around her lips. “Do you feel more—“

“Powerful?” Allison finished for her. “Let’s just say I don’t feel like I need saving.”

Stiles hurled himself at their table again, this time taking a seat on the bench across from them as he rested his burning legs. “You know,” He huffed in Allison’s direction, “Drug dealers have been using disposable cell phones for years! I think you should invest in one!”

Despite his sarcastic tone, Allison shook her head. “My dad checks every call, text and email.” She reminded. “Trust me, he’d find it.”

Rolling his eyes, his features squinted up as if to mock her, he changed the subject. “Scott wants to know if you can get the book? He thinks that maybe there might be something in there about whatever it is that’s killing people.”

“I can try.” Allison assured. “But I’ll need the keys to my grandfathers office.”

Stiles held up his two thumbs in approval, catching his breath before running back to deliver the message to his werewolf best friend. “How exactly do you plan on getting the keys?” Riley asked, curious to hear her plan unfold.

“I’ll figure it out.” She assured, tearing off the crust of her sandwich before taking a bite. They sat in silence for a moment longer as Riley assumed her friend was coming up with viable ideas on how to snatch the keys from her grandfather. That didn’t seem to be the case at all as Allison turned to glance at Riley, more interested in the idea behind her curiosity than anything else. “Ever since my father started training me, I’ve felt more confident about who I am.”

Riley pressed her lips into a thin line as the bell for fifth period rang out. “I wish I could feel like that.” She hummed under her breath.

 

###

###

 

Deciding to stay at school until the lacrosse game that night, Riley listened as Allison mapped out a descriptive plan of how to swipe the office keys from Gerard. While sitting in the bleachers with him, hoping that if she acts freezing he’ll lend her his coat. If his keys are in the pockets, she’ll signal to Stiles to come pick them up. While he’s rummaging through the office, Allison suggested she keep her grandfather occupied long enough for Stiles to find what Scott needs.

It sounded like a bulletproof plan, but with how things had been going recently, Riley had a feeling that something was bound to go wrong. It wasn’t that she wished for it, but it came as a wave of anxiety. Something didn’t feel right, and Riley did not want to be at fault for any part of the plan falling through.

Before the game was due to start, she waited in the parking lot as Allison’s father dropped off her dinner. He remained in the drivers seat, smiling to his daughter heart--fully through the opened passenger side window. Seeing an exchange as simple as theirs made Riley uncomfortable, unsure of how to process a reaction that didn’t come off as rude. It had been a long while since she’d seen her own father . . . Painfully aware that it was her mother she’d never get the chance to see again.

And so she idled on the sidewalk behind her friend, out of view of Chris Argent as Allison gripped her paper bagged dinner with a firm grip, and turned to waive a hand at the girl behind her. “Dad,” Allison waived, “You remember my friend Riley?”

How could he forget the girl standing alongside the werewolves? She wasn’t hard to forget.

Riley clenched her jaw, hoping Allison wouldn’t make this any more awkward than it already felt. The last time she’d seen Chris was in the diner a week or so back. “Vividly.” Her father replied, his salt and peppered hair was in a neat disarray, his beard having grown out just barely past a quarter of an inch now as he looked to her with hardened, blue eyes.

Feeling intimidated by his accusing stare, she raised her hand into a small gesture that acknowledged his company. Bypassing her fathers ignorance, she continued on with her small spiel. “I’ve been telling her about how you’ve been training me, and since Riley’s in on the whole Werewolf thing—“

“A little too involved.” Chris muttered as he glanced to his daughter warily.

Riley kept her head down, her eyes locked on the cement below her feet. She hadn’t been expecting Allison to bring up their earlier discussion so suddenly . . . Especially to her father. But it was Allison who widened her eyes, pleading silently with Chris to be nice. Already feeling as if her choice in friends was under enough scrutiny, she didn’t need her father casting Riley out of her life like he had Scott. “I was thinking that maybe you could teach her a few things?” She added once Chris’ expression simmered down. “Like how you’ve taught me.”

Riley felt her cheeks flame as her friend spoke, never figuring she’d truly ask her father, a hunter of werewolves, for help. Chris rose an interested brow, looking past his daughter to eye the girl shuffling timidly behind her. Her stance alone indicated that she did not feel comfortable with this exchange, but perhaps that was part of the problem. “Is that true, Riley?” He called out, waiting for her to look back at him with a small nod.

“Yes, Sir.” She replied, kissing his ass for the sake of respecting him. The last thing Riley would want is for Argent to tell Allison she couldn’t be friends with her either.

Chris gripped his steering wheel, interested in the reasoning behind Riley Haven’s sudden interest. Being a part of this world was something he was far too familiar with, knowing the kinds of danger that lurked around each corner. She was a part of the Supernatural world, whether he liked it or not. A little too involved, Chris hummed, remembering seeing her cower at the table she sat with Derek at, almost ashamed to have been caught.

He wanted to say no, but he somehow found that he couldn’t.

Maybe it was because he knew that if something happened to her, it would feel like his fault. Refusing to help a child who could not find the guidance within her own parents, it would be like sentencing her to death. People like her, so afraid and insecure, didn’t tend to last long in their kind of world. With a hesitant sigh, he looked past his daughter once more to glance to Riley. “Drop your plans this weekend,” he instructed, “your training starts then.”

His thinned lips spread into a wide smile then, as if he were trying to come across as devious, before he drove off. Allison waited until she watched her fathers black SUV pull out from the parking lot of the school before turning back to face her friend. She held a similar grin, not to the extent of his, but one that indicated that she was glad to see her father agree. “I don’t think he likes me much.” Riley insisted as Allison shuffled her paper sac from one hand to the other before looping her free arm through Riley’s.

Rolling her innocent brown eyes, Allison huffed. “Don’t take it personally, he doesn’t like any of my friends.”

But it felt as if she couldn’t not take it personally, since the only reason she assumed Chris Argent didn’t like her was because of her association with Derek Hale. The big bad wolf in the hunters eyes, it was the only explanation. “Not even Lydia?” Riley wondered as they headed toward the bleachers, anticipating the lacrosse game.

Allison shook her head, her Carmel highlighted hair swaying over her shoulders with expectance. “Ever since she got bit by Peter,” she murmured, “and never turned, he’s kept a close eye on her.” The bleachers were crowded now as people began situating themselves in the bitter cold. “Having over protective parents really sucks.” The hunter—in—training frowned.

And Riley did too, but for a different reason entirely. ‘At least you have parent’s’, she thought bitterly to herself.

“There’s my grandfather.” Allison pointed out then, nodding her head toward the far end of the bleachers. He sat along the railing, a space open beside him for his only granddaughter. Riley hadn’t seen Gerard before, but had heard the horror stories from both Derek and Scott. A ruthless hunter among the wolves, one who showed no mercy when it came to eradicating the town of Beacon Hills wolf population.

Despite being in his late sixties, he looked stern and strong. She watched as his eyes narrowed toward the field, crinkling at their corners as if he were looking for someone specific. And for a moment, Riley wondered if Gerard knew about Scott yet. Sure, Derek’s newly found Alpha status was talked about deeply among the hunters, but she wondered if Chris kept Scott’s secret for a reason? “Whats the plan again?” Riley nudged her friend beside her, shuffling from one foot to the other among the grassy field.

Allison studied her grandfather from a far for a second longer before turning to face her friend, “I’m going to act cold so that he gives me his jacket,” she formulated the plan on the spot, “I’ll get his office keys from the pocket and signal to you to come get them.”

Riley nodded, thoroughly impressed as she raised her brows in understanding. From there it would be up to her and Stiles to rummage through his office and find the Bestiary before Gerard could notice. “Go ahead.” Riley inclined her head toward the direction of her grandpa, waiting until Allison trekked her way up the bleachers before turning to face the field instead.

Tonight was their first real game of the season, facing off against Davenford Prep, their biggest rival as far as she knew. Able to see number eleven, the co—captain of the team, warming up with the team. Scott McCall did not look her way as he did so, but she figured he had a lot on his mind already. She was almost positive he felt useless, having to act so invested in the game while the humans did all of the work. But it felt like a nice change of pace for her, able to feel as if she could contribute in a way that was indeed helpful.

“Hey!” A voice called out, looking to the left of the field where a flock of maroon, jersey clad jocks huddled. Among them was Stiles, the bench warmer, waiving his arm high above his head to gain her attention. She approached him then as Coach Finstock blew his whistle, signaling for the first line of players to head out. “She get the keys yet?” He asked, organizing the water bottles for the team members who actually played.

Shaking her head, she glanced back to the side of the bleachers Allison had headed to, seeing her sit between her grandfather and the railing, about four rows up, of the bleachers. “She’s working on it.” She relayed the plan to him in a low voice, flinching at the sound emanating from the crowd behind her as they all began to cheer. Encouraging the players as they aligned themselves in formation against the opposing team.

From her peripheral she could see Gerard exchange his jacket with a seemingly frigid Allison. The plan was playing out in their favor, glancing back to see Stiles shuffling the bottles with a haste—filled expression. “You okay?” She wondered, looking at him carefully, afraid that her own stare might cause him to become even more frazzled.

“Just nervous.” He excused. “A lot could go wrong tonight.”

Riley pursed her lips together, aware of just how right he was. What would happen if they got caught? If they didn’t find the book? There were plenty of things betting against them now. “I’ll be the lookout.” Riley promised, assuring him he could go in first while she kept out a watchful eye. “I’ll text you if anyone’s coming.”

He seemed to relax a bit then, figuring her help was better than nothing. Stiles glanced to Allison situated in the stands, making eye contact with her as she gave him a slight, but noticeable, nod. “It’s go time.” He insisted to Riley as Allison held her hand past the railing, her fist clutching the keys. Riley waived him forward, instructing him silently to go ahead and that she would be close behind.


	16. Near Death Experience pt. 2

Waiting patiently as Stiles brushed through the crowd and disappeared toward to entrance of the school, Riley stayed behind, her eyes cautiously scanning the faces of the crowd to ensure no one had seen Allison and his exchange. Not having been paying attention to the game, her nervous frame flinched at the shrill sound of cheers as people from the bleachers clapped vigorously. Their team must have been winning, though it was only twenty minutes in.

Squinting over her shoulder, looking back out to where she’d seen Stiles headed, she found that she could not see him anymore. A clear indication that he’d made it inside unscathed. Swallowing the lodge inside of her throat, her anxious hands clasped together to ease the tension swarming within her body. It wasn’t that she was nervous to find the bestiary, but more so when it came to potentially being caught.

That was the last thing either of them wanted.

Looking back to the lacrosse players on the field, she easily found Scott’s jersey number, their eyes meeting from across the way before he nodded to her encouragingly. Perhaps he could sense her hesitancy, but she didn't know just how much Scott was truly relying on her. He’d do it himself if he could, but it would be far too suspicious for the team captain to be missing from tonights game. He needed Stiles and Riley to get this done. If they could not recover the bestiary, he feared they would never truly figure out what kind of monster was terrorizing their town.

But his encouraging look her way made her feel less anxious and more determined. She left then, filing out of the crowd as she made her way towards the front of the school. The parking lot was dark, save for the few streetlights perched every few hundred feet or so. Keeping her head down to not draw any attention to herself, Riley kept a brisk pace as she bypassed the parked cars on either side of her. And the closer she got to the front entrance of the school, the easier she pegged this mission to be.

After all, if Stiles could get by unnoticed . . . _It couldn’t be that hard._

And as she began to veer to the left, she noticed a blue Mazda parked just to the right of her. The cab light was on, the drivers side window rolled down as the faintest sound of sniffling sifted through the night air. It was Lydia Martin’s car, one Riley could easily identify even in the dark and vacant parking lot.

Her feet came to a sudden halt, feeling an unnatural tether draw her towards Lydia’s car and away from the school. She hadn’t seen the red head in a few days, figuring she’d been keeping a low profile ever since her mindless wandering through the woods for two days. Riley approached the drivers side of the car slowly. The crying became more audible, her brow twitching in apathy as she cleared her throat. “Lydia?” She asked in a tender voice, pausing just outside her open car window.

The red head was tucked away inside, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Lydia’s shoulders gave the slightest jump at Riley’s approach, turning her head away so that she couldn’t see her fresh tears. “Just go away.” She muttered, her voice cracking in a way that made sure Riley’s feet stayed cemented in place.

“Are you okay?” Riley asked in a kind voice, her eyes softening into a tender glance.

“Just leave me alone.” Lydia stammered, her hand reaching for the lever to roll the window up.

As the window began to ascend upward, Riley instinctively grasped it’s edge with a firm hand as if to halt it. “Hey—“ she murmured loudly, catching the red head’s attention, “Lydia, wait.” Her and Lydia may not have been as close as her and Allison, but she did still think of her as something more than an acquaintance. “Talk to me.”

The window continued to roll upward as Riley’s knuckles grew dangerously close to the window seal at the top of the door. Without any sign of releasing the lever, Riley pulled her hand out of the way just as the window sealed shut. Feeling locked out as she took a step back, a wave of emotion overcame Riley. She did not budge from her stance, but she felt as if Lydia didn’t trust her enough to open up.

And Riley could understand why, because all this time she’d been in Beacon Hills, her and Lydia had never truly clicked. But ever since the night of the formal, feeling as if she’d somehow let her down by not being there when Peter had sunk his teeth into her, Riley was now committed to changing Lydias perception of her. Despite not being close, they were close enough.

Through the closed window she could see Lydia continue to blot her tears away, knowing she’d regret just walking away, Riley tapped on the window instead. _“Lydia?_ ” Her voice was muffled through the thick layer of glass, “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” Analyzing the way Lydia ignored her, Riley pursed her lips in defeat. “Is this about Jackson?” She asked carefully, wondering if her recent break up with the jock had anything to do with it. Of course it did . . . But Riley had a hunch that that wasn’t the only thing bothering her. “Or maybe . . .” She trailed off with a more knowing tone, “the night of the formal?”

Lydia squared her jaw, wishing she could somehow suck up her emotions and act as if all that bothered her was merely just an inconvenience. But it was more than that. And the more she thought about it, and the way it seemed to tear her up inside, the more alone she felt. And the more alone she felt, the deeper she seemed to spiral.

With a reluctant mitten—clad hand, Lydia pressed the lever to roll the window back down.

She did not want to feel alone anymore. As if no one would understand.

“You—you’re going to think I’m crazy.” Lydia stuttered with glistening eyes. She turned her head to look up at Riley, her lavishly green eyes were bloodshot and raw. There were bags beneath her eyes, etched so incredibly deep into her porcelain skin that Riley couldn’t help but stare.

But she shook her head then at Lydia’s prediction. Out of all the things she’d witnessed in Beacon Hills, whatever was on Lydia’s mind had to of been the least disturbing. “I won’t.” Riley confirmed in a comforting voice. “Trust me.”

And Lydia wanted to, because it felt as if no one else had enough time to let her confide in them. It took a lot for her to confess anything, always having been the type to bottle everything down. But it felt different this time. It felt like if she didn’t release some of it, it would overspill and come rushing out anyway. “Something—“ She began, but abruptly stopped her relay of emotion. She wanted to find a better way to phrase it, but when she came up empty for alternatives, she began again. “Something strange is happening to me.” Her voice came in a small wave of whispers, afraid her voice would carry to passing ears. Riley leaned down closer, bracing her elbows against the ledge of the open window, her expression sincere. “Ever since the night of the formal,” she tisked as if she were reading off the reasons that lead up to her breakdown, “The two days I was in a fugue state of mind. I—I haven't quite felt like myself.”

Riley frowned at that statement, knowing that with the bite from Peter Hale, she should have felt less like herself and more hyper aware. “What do you feel like?” She edged around the question with a concerned tone, keeping her eyes firmly planted on Lydia’s reactions as she spoke.

But the red head simply sighed in frustration, her glossed lips quivering as she thought of an honest way to reply. “Like a part of me is missing.” She concluded after a few tense moments of silence. “I can’t eat,” she muttered, “I can’t sleep. I keep—I keep having these nightmares and sometimes . . . “ She took a second to steady her breathing, “Sometime I’m not even asleep.”

Narrowing her eyes in confusion, Riley inclined her head to get a better understanding. “Like hallucinations?” She wondered, to which Lydia nodded seemingly.

“This morning for instance,” Lydia continued, beginning to slowly pull the mitten from her left hand off, “I smashed my mirror with my fist, but I—“ Lydia wiggled her manicured fingers back and forth as the compartment light from the ceiling of her car shown down on the gashes along her knuckles, “I don’t remember doing it.” Lydia finally looked up then, glancing to Riley with eyes that suggested she was terrified of something she didn’t quite understand. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

It was her assumption, because thats what everyone in town thought too. Everyone was beginning to perceive her as ‘The girl who lost her mind’. But Riley shook her head then, capturing Lydia’s dainty wrist in her warm hands as she gave it a firm squeeze. “You’re not crazy, Lydia.” She ensured, wishing she could explain that these things were possibly just a side effect from the traumatizing night she’d endured at the formal dance last winter. But Lydia had no idea about the supernatural, and telling her about the werewolf that bit her may only send her deeper into her out of control spiral.

Lydia was an innocent and Riley felt the need to protect that innocence for as long as she could.

And after a second, Lydia squeezed her hand back before pulling it away entirely. “I should go,” She mentioned, wiping away the last few tears with the pads of her fingers, “Or I’ll miss curfew.”

Riley nodded, standing up as she took a step away from the door as her friend began to roll it back up. “Text me so I know you got home okay.” She instructed once Lydia switched the ignition to her car on. “Or anytime you need someone to talk to.” She implied knowingly, offering the red head a shoulder to lean on whenever she felt like she couldn’t withstand the burden alone.

Lydia offered her a tight—lipped half smile in return as the window sealed into place and she began to pull out of her parking spot. It felt like an odd arrangement between the two of them, not quite friends, but it was a good place to start.

She waited until Lydia’s blue Mazda disappeared around the corner of the parking lot and onto the street before beginning to slowly back pedal her way up the front steps of the school and into it’s entrance. The lights were off, basking the halls in an eerie darkness that formed a swell of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

The principles office wasn’t that far away now, keeping her eyes constantly alert the closer she crept. Having fell five minutes behind plan due to the detour she’d taken to look out for Lydia, she wondered if Stiles had come across anything yet. The door to the office was wide open as she approached, keeping herself on her toes as she came to find the office dark and empty. “Stiles?” She called in a haste filled whisper, grabbing the keys that were still hanging from the deadbolt as she slid the key ring over her index finger warily.

She did not hear his response, closing the door with a soft thud to ensure no one else stumbled across the open office of Gerard Argent. A sudden hissing sound spooked her, feeling her limbs go numb from the loud noise as it echoed off the rows of metal lockers. “Stiles?” She called out again, a little louder this time as a wave of goosebumps peppered the skin along her spine. Her instinct should have told her to move along, but the amount of familiarity behind the sound caused her to ghost forward.

Reaching for her phone in her back pocket, she dialed Stiles number to find out where he was. It rang seven times before going to voicemail, hanging up before his sarcastic voice could finish with his voicemail greeting.

The sound happened again, high pitched and bone shivering as she followed the source as closely as she could. A bout of commotion coming from the opposite end of the school, hearing the noises travel down the length of the halls and echo in her ears. “Stiles?” She called out again, finding herself growing closer to the indoor swimming pool that resided on the west end of Beacon Hills High.

She hadn’t heard the sound again, but couldn’t avoid the way her legs continued forward as if they moved on their own accord.

And as she reached the end of the hall, the entrance of the pool opening into a wide room. The water was still, an urgency she couldn’t quite ignore began to surface then as she saw the limp body of a girl splayed along the tiled floors. With buckling knees, Riley sprinted to her side, kneeling with a strict expression as she brushed the blonde hair out of the teenagers face. It wasn’t hard to recognize features of Erica Reyes, her hands creeping beneath her jawline in search for a pulse.

It was faint, but it was there. “Hey!” Riley shook her gently, her voice overcome with fear.

Her attempts were at no use as a pair of strong arms encircled Riley’s chest, pulling her to her feet in one swift movement. A gasp sprung from her lips, her hands rigidly clawing at the arms that entrapped her as they constricted her against their chest. It wasn’t until the grip loosened and she was able to maneuver herself around to face them that she stopped fighting. It was Derek Hale that slowly dragged his arms back from around her waist, his jaw squared and his eyes stern. “What the hell is going on?” She demanded, looking over his shoulder to see Stiles idling a few feet away in presumable fear.

Derek raised his hand to her mouth, covering it loosely as if to silently beg her to shut the hell up. Her voice vibrated against his palm, tickling her lips until she clamped them shut and watched as he tilted his head up toward the ceiling with a glare. Following his line of sight, her hand latched around his wrist as she lowered it from her mouth, looking up toward the ceiling to see something trailing slowly above them. At first it was blurry, unable to make out the object scaling the ceiling until the water from below reflected off it’s blue—ish green scales. 

“Holy shi—“

Derek latched onto her wrist firmly, tugging her forward and behind him as the monster Riley had dreamed about dropped down from it’s perch among the tiled ceiling and landed lithely on it’s feet before them. Derek stood prominently as it crouched down onto all fours, it’s tail swaying back and forth menacingly as Derek Hale let out a grisly snarl in return. The reptilian—like monster was taller than Riley, it’s yellow slitted eyes angrily narrowed in their direction. It’s body was scaled like a snake, his muscular legs bent as its arms planted themselves as if it were ready to pounce at any moment.

Knowing that creature like this had overpowered a skilled hunter, Riley feared the worst as she tugged on Derek’s hand, pulling him back as she urged him to follow her and Stiles into a dead sprint toward the opposite end of the pool.

Hearing it’s hiss cascade over the gentle waves of the pool, it struck their ears violently, leaving her ridden with fear as she ran faster. Derek’s pace from behind her quickened too, a dead giveaway that whatever lurked behind them was now running at full force to catch up. Willing herself to look behind her, in fear of how close the creature truly was, her grip tightened on his hand instead. But Derek staggered suddenly, stumbling over his own feet as a soft grunt fell from his teeth.

Stiles halted from up ahead, turning back to see Derek reach his free hand up to caress the back of his neck as the scaled monster idled just an arms length away. He already knew by the look of confusion glimmering in Derek’s eyes that it did to him what it had done to Stiles a few days prior. Having lacerated the nape of Derek’s neck, he could feel a strange numbness begin to ghost along his veins. It crept quickly, finding it hard to continue forward.

Riley turned now too, stretching the arm she clasped around her shoulder as if to help him bare the dead weight he couldn’t quite seem to carry anymore. Stiles was ready to leave him behind, but saw that Riley had no intention of doing so as he too gathered the opposite side of Derek’s weight as they began to trek him onward.

The paralytic toxin was already at work, finding a home within Derek’s body as he felt both Riley and Stiles balance his weight within their hands. With his feet dragging along the floor, Stiles easily upheld his side of the weight as Riley struggled with each step. Trying hard to keep him upright, she found that her own body was not built for this. His body began to slant into her arms, trying to keep herself upright as the creature stalked them from behind, she found that she had less ground to keep her feet stable as her path narrowed towards the edge of the pool.

And all at once, his weight came piling down as Riley lost her footing and fell sideways into the deep water. Her latch on Derek did not break, dragging him and stiles into it’s depths in a matter of seconds.

The water was ice cold against her skin, feeling it rush past her the deeper she sank. Her hands were free now, having lost her hold on either of them as her feet kicked out as if to propel her back to the surface. Stiles was already there, baring the weight of a paralyzed Derek as he struggled to keep the Alpha’s head above water.

Breaking through the waters surface, her lungs aching for air, she gasped in a greedy breath.

Derek’s head was lolled against Stiles’ shoulder, unable to keep himself afloat as he held him like a dead—weight. “If that thing can swim,” Stiles coughed sarcastically to cover up his anxiety, “we’re all dead.”

Glaring at him as a way to denounce his pessimistic comment, Riley felt the weight of her soaked clothes cling to her skin. “What do we do?” She asked, feeling responsible for escalating the situation.

The creature stalked the edge of the pool, circling them as they floated in it’s center. With their feet unable to touch the tiled cement below, they were left to tread the open water for as long as it took to devise a plan. “How about not letting me go for starters?” Derek seethed, feeling Stiles’ grip begin to slacken.

Feeling the Alpha’s bitter growl ghost along his neck, Stiles tightened his grip and heaved him into a more steady position. “I don’t think I can hold him much longer.” Stiles confessed as Riley inched closer, weaving her arm around Derek’s waist to help lessen the load. Already feeling the muscles in her arms begin to ache from treading the water, she bit her tongue at the amount of energy it took to keep herself and half of Derek’s weight above water.

“Drop me and I’ll kill you.” Derek argued. Knowing Riley’s arm wrapped around his waist, he was unable to feel it as his limbs swayed uselessly at his sides.

“Considering you’re the one paralyzed, buddy, I don’t think you should be making death threats.” Stiles hummed, the water rising up to fill his mouth before lowering back into a gentle wave. “Besides,” he continued, “I’m the one keeping you alive.”

Riley could not see Derek’s face, but she imagined the expression he must have held. One of suppression, wanting to punch him more than he’s ever wanted to before, but the paralytic toxin prevented him from doing so. “What about all the other times,” Derek demanded with a huff, “I kept your scrawny, defenseless ass alive? _Huh?_ ”

“Not to change the subject,” Stiles confronted, “but where’s your pack of teenage mutts?” He asked, a dense cloud of tension hovering over the two of them. “Shouldn’t they be here? Ya know, saving their mighty Alpha?”

Riley ground her teeth together in frustration, “Are you two done yet?” Her voice broke over Stiles as he continued on a petty filled rant. “Because if you haven’t noticed, we’re trapped in eight feet of water with nowhere to go but down.” At her tone, they both quiet down their arguments. “We have to get ahold of Scott.”

“The games probably over by now.” Stiles murmured.

Derek fell silent for a moment, studying the creature as it crept towards the edge of the pool, acting as if it were going to finally dive in, but it didn’t. It’s clawed hand stretched out to skim the gentle waves, hissing once it’s wetness gathered in it’s palm, and tore it’s outstretched hand away quickly. “I don’t think it can swim.” Derek acknowledged.

Stiles sighed, “That’s a relief.”

Feeling the burn within her calves, Riley treaded the water as best as she could. With her body flush against Derek’s, helping keep his head above the water, she felt an exhaustion begin to compel her. “I wonder what it wants?” She stammered, watching it pace back and forth along the ledge.

“By the murderous glare in it’s eyes,” Stiles noted, “it probably wants us dead.”

Riley furrowed her brows, her lashes wet. “But why?”

“If you guys had found the bestiary,” Derek grumbled, “maybe we’d know.”

Stiles became exuberant then, “I was looking for it when you and Erica rudely interrupted me!” Feeling as if the blame was being put on him, Stiles went on another rant. “I wouldn’t be pointing the finger to anyone but yourself, big guy! Especially at the only one keeping your werewolf ass alive right now!” A tempered rage bellowed from his mouth, “Quit your bitching and help us find a way to get the hell out of here.”

Easing Stiles out of his anger induced rampage, Riley made a suggestion. “Can you howl to get Scott’s attention?” She asked, remembering how the night of the formal, Derek had done so to lead the Beta to the Hale house.

“Not likely.” Derek insisted. “I’d have to use my diaphragm to make my echo location louder . . . If you haven’t noticed,” He commented with a slight attitude, “I’m paralyzed from the neck down in eight feet of water.”

Riley frowned at the way he lashed out at her, glad that her features were not in his line of sight. Perhaps he could sense the way his comment made her feel, but he did not apologize for his tone. Did he blame her for dragging them into the pool? Is that what he was truly mad about? “I could try calling Scott.” Stiles suggested them. “My phones a few feet from the ledge.”

“Absolutely not!” Riley interrupted.

“It would only take a second—“ But Derek agreed to her surprise, assuring Stiles that his plan had many flaws. He couldn’t leave Riley to bare the two hundred pounds of Derek Hale. “—If I can grab it quick enough, let’s be honest,” the freckle faced kid explained, “I can’t keep you up much longer.” His aching frame felt like fire now, fighting against the flames burning along his muscles to keep Derek’s head above the water. And as much as Riley was trying to help when it came to lessening the load, it just wasn’t enough. “Would you trust me just this once, Derek?”

“No.” He huffed.

“You know,” Stiles muttered angrily, “You’re quite dependent on me for a person with trust issues.”

Derek snarled, “And once my paralysis wares off, whose going to be able to fight that thing?” He demanded as beads of water paved a path down the sides of his cheek. “You or me?” He argued until he made his point clear, knowing damn well that neither Stiles nor Riley would fair against whatever—the—hell that thing was. “You need me,” he breathed, “which is why you’re not letting me go.”

Riley craned her head to look at Stiles now, shifting Derek’s body in his arms until the Alpha was face to face with her. Her eyes were accusingly locked on Stiles, silently pleading with him to find another way. But he was dead set on his plan already, and a part of Derek could sense that. If he could get to his phone in time, call Scott to come and save their asses, he could get back to Riley before any real damage was done. “Do you trust me?” Stiles asked, looking pointedly at Riley.

“Not right now!” She panted. Not when he was planning to leave her to carry the weight of not only herself, but Derek Hale. Stiles glanced back to the creature, idling on the opposite side of the pool than his phone, he took it as a sign of opportunity. One he felt would be lost if he did not act now. Stiles’ grip on Derek slackened, kicking out his feet to propel him forward towards the pools ledge. _“Stiles!”_ She clamored, feeling the weight she use to bare now double.

Riley’s head bobbed below the water, clutching Derek instinctively to keep him a float. With her arms wrapped around his waist, she struggled to expel enough energy to keep him up. The water nipped at her exposed skin, frigid and alluring as it dragged her beneath it’s surface. Her boots felt like cement clasped around her feet as if to slowly anchor her down. And it felt as if the more she fought it, the harder it was to ignore the throbbing pulse in her temples, her lungs starving for oxygen.

And his weight became too much for her to hold as he too sank beneath the surface.

With her arms still circled around his chest, she hugged him tighter the further down they fell. Knowing in the back of her mind, that she could easily let him go and swim back up to the top, she couldn’t allow her grip to loosen. As if her hands were bound to him, she could not pry them from his cold, weighted body. So intent on saving them both, she relentlessly flailed her legs out beneath herself in the hopes of breaking the surface once more.

Her face was buried in his neck, still fighting the weight that dragged her down, never daring to let him go until her legs tired out. Pausing for just a moment, feeling the water rush past her felt both soothing and terrifying, she took a second to regain her strength. And in the seconds she stopped fighting back, she felt her back skim the bottom of the swimming pool, pinned beneath the pure weight of Derek Hale.

They were chest to chest now. Their eyes finding comfort in the fearful gaze of one another.

Riley’s arms remained interlocked behind his back, a numbness gathering in the core of her body as it carried itself slowly throughout her veins. Her lungs felt light, yet as if they would crumple at any moment. Quaking as if they were shriveling second by second. And Derek, with such panic filled eyes, pleaded with her to get herself back to the surface. He could physically see how drained she was of energy, and as seconds ticked by, her terror laced expression seemed to ease into something more serene.

She couldn’t be content with dying . . . Not now. Not like this.

And as he lay above her, pinning her weak frame to the cement floor, he cursed the amount of damage his one life had caused. Not just now, but in the past. How much resentment he’d held for himself, and how it all seemed to triple in size as she drowned beneath him.

Unclasping her hands from around his back, she sluggishly allowed them to trail over his shoulders until they reached the slight swell of his neck. Riley’s fingertips brushed along his jawline, keeping them there without a second thought. He could feel her touch now as her palms cupped his cheeks, his paralysis only applicable from the neck down. And of all the things he could have thought, he couldn’t help but think this was his fault. His useless body, one he had no control over now, was what kept her hungry lungs from replenishing itself with air.

And Riley felt weak for not being strong enough to save him.

Looking into his hooded green eyes, all she could think was that she did not want him to die alone. He deserved better than that, and as her chest began to hollow itself out, feeling as if it were concaving into her lungs, her worries were all focused on him. On his worth. On his life. Riley felt as if this death would do him a disservice. Derek Hale did not deserve to die like this.

The scary thing about dying was the subconscious notion that you were, in fact, dying. It was nothing like how the movies portrayed it to be. No visionary detail of the flashbacks to her life. No fulfillment. No legacy to leave behind. There was nothing. It was like basking in the darkness of a depth you never knew. Like feeling your nerve endings burn out. It was lonely. It was so incredibly lonely.

Like being a ghost in the vessel you once called home. A vessel you once called your body.

Riley did not want to be alone.

Her fingertips grazed the stubbled canvas of his cheeks, her lips tugging at the corner as she looked at his through hazed filled eyes. Her sight of him was distorted now, but her thumbs grazed his parted lips, and she felt as if seeing him wasn’t enough. Touching him just wasn’t enough. Chest to chest and nose to nose, Riley inclined her head the slightest bit until her lips briefly touched his.

Pressed together for a fraction of a second until her touch slackened, her lips parting from his.

Opening his eyes, with a fire igniting within the cavity of his lungs, he watched her head loll back to the cement floor. Riley’s eyes were shut now, the faintest beat of her heart as it stuttered twice and then ceased.

 

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_It is said that one can never truly know darkness until their life ends. Until the brightness of their lives gives one last breath. And people often ask what being dead may feel like, but its better not to know. There is a coldness that comes with death. A sense of loss that is so frigid it feels like a fire in your heart, but your heart does not beat. It can’t. It won’t. There’s nothing worthy enough to bring back it’s pulse once it’s already gone . . . But that’s not true. There are things worthy enough. Things that are built to draw you back when you’re already so far gone._

_There has to be, otherwise nothing in life would be worth living for._

_Despite the lack of awareness, you know that you are alone. There isn’t anyone waiting for you in whatever afterlife you believe in. Perhaps thats part of the problem . . . Maybe faith plays a bigger part in it than assumed. Or maybe it has nothing to do with it. Its really hard to say, but one thing is for certain . . . There is an unfathomable feeling of dread that never really leaves. It only grows as time goes on._

_And that is what death feels like, a never ending loop. A song you hate on constant replay, you can’t escape it’s sound. Except there is no sound, it’s a limitless rerun of silence. Its just you and your thoughts, but the only thing you can think about is how you wished you were still alive. You think about your mistakes and what you would have given to fix them. You think about the missed opportunities. The what if’s and the what could have been’s._

_But being dead has it’s advantages. It makes you grateful for second chances._

 

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There was an unmistakable weight upon her chest, like a pile of bricks being built from the hollows of her lungs. A voice coaxed her from the darkness, a plea of some sort. It came through like a tunnel of sound, as if it echoed from the next room over. And as the pressure in her chest fluctuated, increasing and decreasing in a timed pattern, Riley felt a stream of air burrow inside of her throat. It seeped into her airway, expanding her lungs for a fraction of a second before the rhythm continued.

First the voice, then the fluctuating pressure and then the air.

And the air tasted so good, wanting to swallow more of it, but she found that she could not inhale it on her own. Something else fed it to her through her parted lips, but it somehow felt unreal. And as the pressure returned to her chest, she finally realized what it was . . . They were compressions upon her heart, coaxing it to beat again. And the air that flowed through her lips, was breathed into her from the lungs of another.

And the plea’s willed her to breathe again.

The compressions came faster now, with a harder hand. Perhaps they were afraid of the time and how it seemed to pass at an excruciatingly fast pace. And like a light switch being flipped, it was as if every nerve ending in Riley’s body buzzed to life. A haggard breath seeped from her blue lips, her skin a ghostly shade of white as her wet lashes seemed to flutter against her cheek. “She’s waking up!” Someone called, but the voice sounded distorted and far away.

Being coaxed from the other end of life so rapidly felt disorienting. Unable to differentiate between reality and what was still, presumably, a dream. But her heart pulsated at a quick beat after not having one at all. “Turn her on her side.” Another voice instructed, it was warmer, _denser_ , it sounded relieved.

Feeling a hand wedge between her back and the concrete, her whole body limply lolled to one side. They rubbed between her shoulder blades, feeling the sudden flood within her stomach as she coughed up the water she had inhaled. “It’s okay.” A voice cooed, a third one, much more kind and gentle. “Should we call an ambulance?”

The word traveled from her throat, but came out in a hoarse whisper. “N—no.”

Rolling onto her back once more, she felt an exhaustion wrap itself around her shoulders. Her eyes opened, weak and hooded as she looked up into the concern filled eyes of Scott McCall. His hands were wrapped in hers, his crooked jaw clenched as a tight—lipped smile formed over his cheeks. Another hand reached out, pushing back the wet strand of hair clinging to Riley’s temple. The brown buzzed head and freckled face of Stiles hovered above her.

Her bones ached as she was splayed along the cement, propping herself onto her elbows with unsteady arms until Scott and Stiles both latched a hand around her shoulders. “Easy.” Scott prompted, easing her up into a seated position before he promptly removed his jacket and hung it along the curve of her shoulders. Riley gripped the collars on each side, pulling them closer to her chest as her body began to radiate a bitter chill. “You’re okay.” He promised.

And as she opened her eyes fully, feeling a rawness begin to settle within her tender throat, Riley found Derek situated at her feet. He was on his knees, his hair flattened against his forehead as he praised her with hopeful eyes. His expression was torn, as if he were battling the indefinite need to sock Stiles in the face, but also thank him for reviving her. And as soon as she met his gaze, she looked away. An indescribable need to distance herself from the embarrassment that seemed to creep its way into her cheeks.


	17. Hypocrite

The night that followed did not allow her any restful slumber. A restlessness hung over her, tossing and turning as her body stiffened into a sweltering blaze. Her skin felt like fire, kicking her sheets off of her body, only to pull them back up a minute later when her temperature ran frigid. Unable to get comfortable, she lay awake for most of the night as she stared lifelessly at the ceiling above. _Drowning took a lot out of you_ , she thought mournfully. It wasn’t until the early morning that she was able to convince the emptiness she felt to leave her alone and finally rest. Sleeping through her alarms for school, she turned her phone off entirely and tossed it to the side. School could wait. It had to, considering she’d almost died the night before. The amount of aching that idled within her bones made her sore. It felt as if every inch of her skin was bruised, unable to move without a groan of discomfort.

And it hurt to breathe, because the hollowness was still there. Inhaling each breath to its full extent, just because she was afraid she wouldn’t get that chance again. The reminder of what it felt like, to be smothered by the gentle wave of water haunted her. And once she did settle into sleep in the early hours of the following day, it was all she dreamed about. The crushing weight bounding her below the pools surface. At some point within her dream, it felt like she couldn’t breathe again. Choking on her own gasps for air, she’d have to heave herself awake in order to breathe again. And the creature that had stalked them, it lurked at the waters edge, reaching out for its help when she found that she could no longer tread the water any longer. In her dreams, the water wasn’t crystal clear anymore, it wasn’t blue like the San Diego sky . . . It was black and murky.

From her wrestle with sleep, a light rapping sound echoed throughout her apartment. It startled her for a moment, her eyes cracking open, blinded by the afternoon sun filtering in through her windows. She closed her eyes, rolling onto her side as she ignored the sound once more. But it wasn’t just the sound this time, but a faint voice from the other side of her door. Her ears rang, craning her head deeper into her pillow with the hopes that it would stop. Maybe if she ignored the knock at her door long enough, whoever it was would eventually go away. But the sound kept coming, the rap of knuckles against her wooden door echoed, the voice calling her name as it sifted through like static. Unable to will herself enough strength to answer the door, she laid perfectly still within her bed. Despite living in a studio apartment, with her sleeping quarters within clear sight of her front door, she made no move to get up. Her entire complex could be on fire, but with how she felt, she wouldn’t think twice about letting it burn.

The slightest sound of shuffling came from the opposite side, like metal clinking before the door suddenly creaked open. Riley should have been terrified as a shadow stepped into her apartment, but she was already so seemingly paralyzed by the ache within her limbs, that she did not bat an eye. “You had everyone worried.” A soft voice reprimanded, following the figure as it came to crouch at the side of her bed.

Riley frowned once her eyes adjusted, seeing the tousled, short black hair and the mossy—green eyes. She rolled from her side and onto her back to face him, her expression fighting back the wince of pain as she did so. “Scott told me you didn’t go to school today.” Derek confessed, his warm palms clasped together as he analyzed her. Her lips were still pale, but her cheeks, flushed with heat, signified that at least she was alive. “No ones been able to get ahold of you.” He murmured, his tone silky and delicate as Riley peered up at him through tired eyes.

“How did you get in?” She croaked, her throat rubbed so entirely raw that it hurt to speak.

Derek glanced down at his hands, elongating the nail of his index finger to a sharpened point. From outside, he could hear her heartbeat, and though she didn’t answer the door he had to see that she was okay. And as he looked down at her, with her body cocooned within her blanket and her skin peppered with rigid goosebumps, he could physically see that though she was okay, she wasn’t necessarily _okay._ Her eyes seemed sunken in, rimmed with a darkness that trouble him. He could feel just how worn out she was, able to hear her wheezing breaths as they weaved through her sensitive throat. Derek sat on the edge of her bed then, her translucent eyelids closing once his hand grazed hers. “Did—did you find the bestiary on the thumb drive?” She asked warily, her words forming around her chapped and cracked lips.

Derek nodded, “It’s not in any language we know.” He murmured, counting the steep and uneven breaths expanding within her lungs. “But that thing we saw” Derek’s full brows furrowed, “It’s called a Kanima.”

 _“Kanima?”_ Riley breathed, sounding out the word.

“It’s a shapeshifter,” he confirmed, “like me. Except it doesn’t know what it is.” Riley sighed carefully, her brows knitting together as she thought to herself silently. Derek picked up on her concentration, narrowing his eyes into tender slits, “What is it?”

Riley felt embarrassed for a moment, scrambling for an excuse as she thought about the Kanima in great detail. It was just how she’d envisioned it, though she’d never seen it before last night. “I—I had a dream about it a few weeks ago.” She confessed in a stammer. “I’m trying to understand how that’s even possible.” She looked to him then, her once brilliantly lit hazel eyes seemed dull. “Like maybe my mind was warning me?”

Derek bit the inside of his cheek, his palm warmly engulfing her hand as he came to another conclusion. “Like Erica,” he suggested, “before she has a seizure, her body gives her warning signs.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. How was it possible for Riley to envision this creature long before it had even begun to reek havoc on Beacon Hills?

Riley nodded numbly, followed by a cough that tore through her wind pipe suddenly. She heaved forward into a seated position, hacking up whatever lodge was trapped within her lungs. Derek’s arms folded around her shoulder, easing soothing circles as if he were encouraging her to get it all out. Her coughs sounded dry, booming with sound as if each coughing spurt were a detonating bomb. And when it finally ended, he helped ease her back onto her pillow, brushing the hair back from her eyes as she winced at the soreness that followed.

Sensing the agitation, he asked, “Is it your throat that hurts?”

Riley shook her head in return. “It’s everything.”

Her voice seemed so small, her eyes watering from the burn flooding her lungs. Instinctively, Derek rose his hand as if to touch her, his fingers spread wide before balling them into a fist suddenly. “Do you mind?” He asked first, to which she nodded without fully understanding his question. But his fingers uncurled from his fist, the pads of his fingertips grazing her shoulder before his palm curved around the narrow base of her throat. He could feel her pulse radiating beneath his hand, though he could have sworn she’d held her breath. This was the first time Derek had done something like this in a very long time, and as he focused on the small incline of each breath within her chest, he willed her pain to become his own.

It was a gift that shapeshifters like him were given, and with enough practice, it almost felt like second nature. Siphoning her pain through his palm, he housed it within his own body. And for Riley, the pressure pinning her bones to the bed beneath her began to alleviate. It surged throughout her veins, like a wildfire burning a specific path to nowhere, until it was gone. Like magic.

A grunt seeped from between Derek’s clenched teeth, feeling the weight of her pain filter into his bones instead. Riley’s lips parted in comfort, watching the veins within Derek’s arm become black. His blood carrying her misery from her body to his, where it cycled through his bloodstream. His muscles ached, gritting his teeth to distract himself from it’s painful throb. A numbing sensation ghosted throughout Riley, able to breathe easy without stuttering around the rawness within her throat. “Better?” Derek asked, deciding that seeing the small curve of her lips turning upward in solace was worth his added discomfort. And without the throb within her body, Riley’s eyes became heavy with the sleep she’d been chasing the night before. Derek pulled his hand away then as her tired body began to relax finally. “Get some rest.” He instructed her with a smooth voice.

He moved then as if he were going to stand up and leave, but Riley’s hand captured his wrist to stop him. Though her eyes were half—shut, on the brink of sleep, they looked as if the slightest hint of devastation gleamed within them. “You can stay.” She mumbled quietly, already falling asleep before the words could leave her lips.

Her grip on him loosened as her head sunk deeper into her pillow, and she left him with an invitation he knew he should have ignored. But since last night, all he could think about was how he wished he would have seen the signs earlier. Months ago, when he’d first set his eyes on her, he knew his life would not be the same. It couldn’t be. Having protected himself from that kind of vulnerability for so many years, and here came Riley Haven, who made him feel as if letting down those walls was okay for once. _Why was it okay?_ , he wondered. He settled back down upon her bed, her hand, so small and fragile, fitting perfectly within the curve of both of his palms. Her skin was ice cold, like dry ice against his skin, but he’d endure that kind of fire if it meant holding on to her for just a moment longer.

  
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The next morning came painstakingly early, wishing she could sleep for as long as the weekend would let her. The morning light ignited her apartment in a soft glow, finding Derek silently asleep beside her, not having remembered him staying the night. But it had been easier for her to find a restful slumber after last night when he had taken her pain, and so she figured she must have slept soundly through the rest of the night. Riley looked to her phone, groaning lightly as the clock signified that it was barely seven in the morning. Her abundance of missed calls and texts from both Scott and Stiles went unanswered, but the one from Allison, reminding Riley of their weekend plans to help teach her defensive tactics was what initially made her whine louder. The sound ricocheted off her apartment walls, falling on the resting ears of Derek Hale.

He woke with a start, sitting up so fast that the motion startled Riley. “Are you in pain?” He asked in a haste—filled voice eagerly.

Worried about her and what he could do to ease her ailing. But she shook her head, the slightest roll of her eyes indicated that she was fine. “Not yet.” She half—joked, knowing that todays agenda would only add to her growing soreness. Seeing the quizzical look formulate over Derek’s features, she explained, “I promised Allison I’d—umm . . . “ She trailed off, not wanting to alert him of the time she’d be spending with Chris Argent. “ . . . Have a girls day with her.”

Derek heard the murmur of her heart as it skipped, a deafening reminder that she was lying. But it was not his place to call her out on it, especially when doing so might only drive them further apart than they were before. He simply nodded instead, suggesting carefully, “You can always cancel.”

Hearing her speak about the day that lay ahead, making plans with an Argent made him nervous. Allison and Kate may not have been the same person, but their blood ties ran deeper than any nerve of patience Derek felt for any Argent. What Kate had done to him— _to his family_ —was still something he grasped to understand. It felt as if he’d never truly be able to forgive the Argents for what kind of monster their family had bred.

Riley bit her lip, nervously moving past him as she stretched her limbs and slowly stood up. Her legs felt shaky, like they'd buckle beneath her weight at any second. “I should go.” She nodded, looking back down at Derek who sat on the edge of her bed with a tense expression. Perhaps a part of her knew that being friends with the niece of the woman who had intentionally murdered his family would make him uncomfortable . . . But Allison was nothing like her aunt. Smiling sadly at him, she walked past her kitchen and towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself. Once Derek heard the shower turn on, he took it as a sign that it may have been his queue to leave. But he found that he was incapable of unraveling himself from her sheets, liking the way they felt, as if they could swallow him whole. He’d slept beside her last night, within such a close proximity to her that it had made his bones ache to be closer.

Like a live wire being cut, the frayed ends of the cable sparked the same way his nerve endings had. A feeling he’d never quite felt before. It was an odd sensation burrowing inside that felt as if everything, and somehow nothing at all, craved whatever kind of connection he could get from her.

He sat, simply struck by the undefined feeling swimming in his gut, one he’d never had before. Like a light fluttering against his rib cage, he could blow away at any moment if he did not stay tethered to her bed. And as this feeling of being overjoyed rattled him from the inside out, a knock sounded at Riley’s front door. The lightness he felt breezed away then as his limbs locked into place, hearing the sound again. “Open up, Ry!” A feminine and soft voice called, a slight shiver in their tone. “It’s freezing out here!”

It was Allison, presumably here to pick up Riley for whatever plans they’d made.

With the sounds of the shower still running, he was almost positive that Riley couldn’t hear the knocks. But he did, loud and clear as they sounded for the third time. It was nearing eight in the morning now as Derek promptly stood, unaware of what he should do. “Don’t make me pick the lock!” Allison’s tone was sarcastic, full of wit and life, with an underlining threat.

 _What would be worse,_ Derek thought, _to have her walk in and find him there? Or to open the door and let her in as if his company weren’t anything out of the ordinary?_ He figured the former, knowing the hunter in training would subsequently run off and tell her father that she found an Alpha in her best friends apartment. It was the last thing he’d need from Argent, a target on his back for seemingly stalking the locals.

With sweaty and nervous palms, Derek opened the door to find a beanie—clad Allison idling on the welcome mat. He sheepishly greeted her with an informal nod her way, though her accusing eyes seemed to widen as she pieced together his presence. “She’s getting ready,” he informed her, opening the door wider for Allison, “She told me to let you in.” He lied smoothly.

Not having expected a werewolf to open the door, let alone Derek Hale, she took a wary step back to distance herself. “I—I’ll just wait out here.” She squared her jaw, her teeth grinding together entirely too hard. Her father had warned her to stay away from the Alpha. That Derek had a personal vendetta against their family because of what Kate had done. A vendetta wasn’t exactly the truth, though Derek’s hatred for Kate did somehow extend to the rest of them.

“You sure?” He asked, trying his damnest to come off as polite. “It _is_ cold out here.” He used her earlier words, raising his brows as if to silently mock her, but quickly hid it with a cautious smile.

Despite her stubbornness, Allison brushed past him slowly as she stepped inside the warm home of Riley Haven. She stayed near the far end of the apartment, eyeing him speculatively as he too, put a distance between them. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?” Allison remarked, removing her wool mittens from her cold hands.

“Did Scott tell you what happened the other night?” He ignored her question and lead with his own. She shook her head, not having seen Scott or Stiles during School hours. “We found the bestiary,” he confirmed, “but it’s not in any language I’ve ever seen. And what you saw, the lizard—like creature, It’s called a Kanima. It trapped Stiles, Riley and I in the pool at the high school.”

Allison listened intently, wishing her father would lift her restrictions on talking to Scott, so that she could have found all of this out from him. “Did anyone get hurt?” She asked, eyeing the disheveled bed belonging to Riley, as she made her own assumption as to why Derek was really there.

“I got paralyzed in eight feet of water.” He shrugged, knowing that his safety was not the concern Allison was aiming for. “But,” he nodded mournfully, “Riley almost drowned.” He looked at his hands, not wanting to meet the hunters gaze. “Stiles had to revive her with CPR.”

And then it seemed to make sense to Allison then, absorbing the information as she looked at Derek with defensive eyes. “You’re checking in on her.” She guessed, to which he simply nodded once. “I’d say thats really sweet of you,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest, not afraid to stand up to him, “but it seems a little out of character.”

Derek’s expression didn’t budge, hearing a light fumbling come from the bathroom as Riley unearthed herself from the steaming shower. She was dressed in a simple, white v—neck and her favorite pair of black, distressed jeans with the tears blown out at her knees as she towel dried her hair. The piping hot shower had done wonders at easing the tension within her body, wishing it could have lasted longer. _“Oh.”_ She skidded to a stop among the carpet, not expecting to find Allison here so soon. “Hi— _Sorry_ —I didn’t know you were here yet.”

Allison shot her a tight—lipped smile. “This morning’s been full of surprises.” She quipped, looking to Derek knowingly before drawing her eyes back on Riley. She finger combed her wet hair, her cheeks flushed from the hot shower. “I’m going to go wait in the car,” she threw her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the parking lot, “Wear something warm. “ She warned.

She left then, feeling uncomfortable by whatever strain lingered between both Riley and Derek. And once the hunter was gone, his rigid stance relaxed as he looked to Riley expectantly. She seemed better, less stiff and pained as the bags beneath her eyes seemed to have disappeared. “I should go too.” He insisted then, his onyx stubble stretched over his cheeks as he shot her a guarded smile. He reached for his jacket at the end of her bed, shrugging it on before making a quick escape. “I’ll see you later?” He asked, hovering in the doorway.

Riley agreed, “See you later.”

  
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They drove eleven miles out into the woods, the tree line thinning up ahead as Allison brought Riley to her father’s favorite training spot. It was a secluded clearing in the middle of Beacon Hills preservation, surrounded by thick forestation for miles and miles. It was the perfect spot to take Riley, aiming to train her on hand to hand combat, as well as weaponry. And despite the chaotic few days she’d had, she suddenly became brimming with anticipation once her friend had parked her car. Chris was already there, standing at the front of his dark SUV as he spread a buffet of weapons along his hood. The early Saturday morning had a frigid bite to it, wishing she would have grabbed a warmer sweater as she pulled her leather jacket closer around her chest. Her boots crunched against the debris at her feet, feeling a cold breeze blow throughout the last few strands of wet hair upon her head. “Good morning.” She grinned, trying to play up her politeness in the presence of Allison’s father.

He did not say it back, but instead, gave her a firm nod of recognition as he finished polishing his pistol.

A part of her hoped Allison would not say anything to her dad about Derek Hale. His suspicions of her being too involved in the supernatural were already high, the last thing she needed was for Chris to know of her interest in the town’s Wolf population. “You ever fight hand to hand before?” He suddenly asked, shrugging off his coat with a raised salt and peppered brow. “Any previous training in martial arts or Jiu jitsu?” Riley shook her head as Chris mumbled to himself, _“Great.”_

“Riley’s really good at boxing!” Allison spoke up, remembering all the times they’d been paired up in gym together. “Even Coach Finstock said she was _‘a knockout’_.”

With flamed cheeks, Riley kept her gaze on her feet as she shuffled back and forth uncomfortably within their line of sight. “We’ll see about that.” Chris sighed, emptying his pockets onto the hood of his car before approaching Riley. “First rule,” he pinned, “Always keep your head up.” He instructed her calmly, waiting until she rose her chin and nodded with a timid look within her eyes. “Second rule,” he grinned, his pearly white teeth almost blinding as he rolled his shoulders, “never take your eye off the enemy.”

His put his hands up then, ready to spar as he began to circle around Riley. He kept his hand flat, not balled into a fist like she did. His goal was to train her, not to hurt her in any way. He kept his palms toward her, like a bullseye for her to train with as she punched his hands lightly to signify she understood the targets. Chris swung his arm toward her then, slow enough for her to see it coming, nodding in approval as she swerved out of its way. _“Good.”_

And thats how it continued; for four straight hours.

Constantly enforcing her to keep up, using different tactics the same way an enemy would as he advanced on Riley time and time again. Allison sat on the trunk of her car, watching closely as she often times fed Riley advice from the sidelines. The sun had risen higher in the sky, just past noon as Riley and Chris Argent acted out different scenarios in which she’d need to learn to fight. They were attacks from the front, and how to safely win a hand to hand combat. Attacking her from the sides, the way an enemy might to take her by surprise. Argent was relentless as he trained her, insinuating that in his experience, he’d seen things she might never believe. He showed her how to use her weight to put force behind her punches and how to block an attack.

And as the clock seemed to round up to nearly one in the afternoon, Chris suggested one last run through as he interlocked his arm loosely around Riley’s neck. “Show me how you’d get out of this position.” He instructed, waiting for her to proceed as she thought about her options for a second longer.

Going with what he’d showed her, Riley bent her arm across her chest, gaining enough momentum before driving the point of her elbow into his ribs. _“Unf.”_ He groaned, wishing she would have done so without the added force, but his lock on her did not falter, a clear sign to Riley that she’d need to try harder. Lifting both of her knees to her waist, she used her sudden weight to catch him off guard. Without the stability of her legs holding her in place, Chris Argent buckled forward slightly, but still did not release her. It was then that she propelled her head back like she would if the situation were real, slowing her momentum before her cranium could collide with Chris’ nose. “There you go!” He bellowed encouragingly, finally releasing her with a pat on her back. “If you throw enough momentum into that,” he waived at her, “you could break your attackers nose.”

Riley grinned, feeling a pool of sweat puddle at the base of her neck as she used the collar of her shirt to wipe it away. The chilly morning had shifted into a sweltering noon, feeling the light sheen of sweat layer over her skin as Allison held up two thumbs of approval for her to see. “You did well for your first lesson!” The brunette casually assured. “Just wait until you get into the real stuff.” She commented.

“Real stuff?” Riley asked, taking a sip from her water bottle.

Chris nodded, “Today’s lesson was on how to win a hand to hand combat with another human.” He pressed, giving her a knowing look. “Tomorrow?” He smiled. _“How to beat a werewolf.”_

And that was exactly how the next day went. Chris didn’t seem to hold back either, expelling all of his power into the scenarios he acted out with Riley. Without weapons, it seemed as if a human facing off against a supernatural creature was ultimately a death wish. But not with Chris’ expertise, indulging her instincts to fight and showing her how to deceive a monster just enough to kill them. “But what if I don’t want to kill them?” Riley had asked, looking to Chris during their five minute water break.

He’d looked at her skeptically, still trying to figure her out. “In the kind of world we live in,” he’d told her, “it’s kill or be killed.”

Riley hadn’t thought of it that way, but if someone wanted her dead, could she really kill them if she had to? Wanting to think she could, she had a feeling that her genetic makeup was not designed that way. Riley did not want to become the kind of monsters she was fighting.

Sunday’s session had gone on longer than Saturday’s, keeping Riley’s stamina fueled as Chris ran drill after drill after drill.

And it wasn’t until half way through their second session that he’d introduced her to weaponry. Having unrolled a leather clasp along the trunk of his car where Allison sat, he showed Riley the knife set he’d be gifting her if she passed. “These are Chinese Ring Dagger’s.” He’d explained, holding up the slim dagger up for her to see. It was constructed of the finest steel, sharpened to a fine tip point, sharp enough to slice through bone.

“These are my favorite!” Allison cooed, before shrugging. “Well, second favorite.” Nothing could quite compare to her crossbow.

It was a set of four, each blade clasped with a plastic shield for the wielders protection. Chris handed one to her, and its hollowed out ring at the top of it’s handle slid loosely over Riley’s ring finger. The weapon felt heavy in her hand, very aware of just how deadly this blade could be if wielded properly. And though the plastic guard was snapped over the sharp curves of the blade, she couldn't help but run her fingers over it. Chris stepped back then, motioning her forward to try and hinder his advance. Showing her tactics Chris hoped she’d never have to use. And the differences between each lesson wasn’t hard to miss as Riley pushed through the aching in her body, striving to ensure Chris knew just how hungry she was to learn.

The different ways to hold the dagger, how to use and how to disarm it efficiently and fast. Because like Chris had said, “If a creature is coming for you, they aren’t going to go easy.” And that was something she had to come to terms with as she absorbed the lecture Allison’s father was teaching. She hadn’t understood it until now, until Chris drilled it into her head from a hunters standpoint . . . _Everyone is an enemy and nowhere is truly safe._

It was sad to think about it that way, but he was right. There were normal people who walked among them with abilities they’d never quite understand. A hunter had to be on their toes at all times. They had to be aware of their surroundings. And most importantly, according to Argent, a hunter should never be left unprotected. “Congratulations.” He’d told her at the end of the second day of their coaching. He handed her the leather clasp containing the ring daggers. “You’ve graduated to stage three.”

Riley held the clutch within her hand, her knuckles showing signs of a light purple bruise. “What’s stage three?” She breathed, heading for Allison’s silver Toyota Camry as they packed up for the day. She looked back over her shoulder, watching as Chris flicked the safety of his gun off, holding it up for her to see before tucking it away inside his holster on his hip.

The gun training freighted her, but luckily that would have to wait until next weekend.

  
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The car ride back to town with Allison felt shorter than usual as the brunette pulled up to the curb of Riley’s work. They hadn’t spoken much on the way back, but she hadn’t complained. Needing a moment to reset her head, ease her tense muscles and focus on the shift ahead of her, she thanked her friend for dropping her off at work. And as she slowly began to pack up her belongings in the front seat, Allison smiled. “I’ve got to admit,” she confessed as she adjusted her posture in the drivers seat, “watching you beat up my dad was the highlight of my weekend.” She kept her face forward, staring out the windshield as she tapped mindlessly at her steering wheel. “To be honest,” she mentioned to fill the brimming silence, “he’s been getting on my nerves this past month.”

Riley folded her apron in her lap, looking to her friend with concerned eyes. “Because he won’t let you see Scott?” She assumed, and though it was more than that, Allison simply nodded her head. Her father sought perfection in her, and at times it felt extremely overwhelming. And with his attention focused on Riley these past two days, it felt like she finally had some room to breathe. Between her father, mother and grandfather all keeping a watchful eye on her at all times, it felt to her as if she had to play this proper daughter. Like she had to fool them to keep them happy. But there was something else lingering within the glare of her eyes that Riley caught on to. “Something else is bothering you.” She gathered, craning her head to find Allison’s doe—like brown eyes narrowed ahead. “You can tell me.”

And it sort of felt like deja vu, like how Lydia had confided in Riley just a few nights prior. Perhaps Riley wasn’t the only one going through some shit . . . Maybe everyone in Beacon Hills had their own things that made them tick. “We’re friends, right?” Allison suddenly asked, her delicate hands smoothing out the dark hair hanging over her shoulder. Riley looked to her with concerned eyes, nodding her head as if she were confused by her question.

Of course they were friends, how could she think otherwise?

A part of Allison figured that response, pursing her lips with the a slight shrug of her shoulder. “I don’t know,” she huffed intensely, though her voice remained calm, “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about Derek?”

Her statement took Riley by surprise, not even aware that this was a topic of interest. But it was something that had been bugging Allison ever since yesterday, when she’d been greeted by him at _her_ door. Riley looked away immediately, playing with the tie of her apron as she squinted in concentration. “There’s honestly nothing to tell.” She murmured in response.

“You’re—like,” Allison stammered for the right word, “seeing him, aren’t you?”

Riley flexed her jaw, raking her brain for an answer that made sense. Did she see Derek? _Yes, quite often actually_ . . . But was she _seeing_ Derek? If that meant what Riley assumed Allison thought, then no, she was not seeing him. “Not really.” Riley muttered. “No.” Catching on to what her friend must have thought when she’d found Derek in her apartment, she took a second to set the record straight. “He was just checking up on me.”

 _“Right.”_ Allison nodded, though her tone suggested she didn’t fully believe that. “Well,” she sighed, shifting her nervous hands around the wheel until she gripped it firmly, “all I’ll say is be careful. Derek’s not exactly good company to keep.”

Without even trying, a defensive tone overcame Riley’s voice. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

Allison Argent didn’t know Derek, not like she did. But the hunter snorted, eyeing her speculatively as she added, “Did you forget that he’s a werewolf,” she enunciated, “turning other teenagers into werewolves?”

Riley hadn’t forgotten that, but there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it when the teenagers he’d turned were all willing. But finding it a bit hypocritical of her friend, she fired back. “You’re _dating_ a werewolf.” She pointed out, causing Allison to clench her jaw. No one was suppose to know about her and Scott still secretly seeing one another, despite her fathers orders.

“It’s different—“ she began to say.

“How is it any different?” Riley’s voice overlapped hers aggressively. Her temper was bubbling now, finding it hard to not defend the Alpha.

Allison took a heavy breath, soothing her tone before continuing. “Listen,” she began, “There are reasons people don’t like Derek, okay?” She relayed defensively. “He’s—He’s a ticking time bomb, Riley. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” With the amount of pent up anger festering inside the wolf, Allison was sure that at any moment he’d implode. People like Derek, who she labeled as selfish, conniving and insecure, often times did not work well with others. His temper and abrasiveness would surely get Riley hurt . . . Or worse, killed.

And Riley understood that, but there was more to him that Allison failed to see. “You do understand why he is the way he is, right?” She spoke firmly, her brows knitted together so hard that the skin between began to crease. “Your aunt, Kate, murdered his family.”

“And he got his revenge.” Allison blurted, her eyes glassy as she blinked back her emotion.

Kate Argent paid for her crime, and she did so with her life. “Peter,” Riley corrected, “got his revenge.” The toxicity within her tone made Allison bite her tongue. “Derek didn’t have anything to do with that.” It upset her to hear her friend speak so lowly of someone she’d only began to understand. There were parts to Derek Hale, like puzzle pieces, that made up who he was. Like each piece had a story, a reasoning for his behavior, and to Riley they all made sense. He had a reason to be angry, to be selfish and volatile at times. He was, after all, still human. Without another word, Riley exited Allison’s car in a swift and heated movement. Slamming the door shut before heading in for her shift.

  
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Her shift ran pretty smoothly, save for the blender incident that resulted in spewed almond milk and espresso all over her and the counters. An easy clean up as she scrubbed the counters furiously, somehow manifesting all of her pent up anger into the swerve of her wrist. It was nearing the last half hour till closing as the final customer inside the bakery made their way out. Riley mumbled a pleasant farewell, trying not to let the flood of emotion she’d been stifling spill out. All she could think about was her friends hypocrisy. How could Allison think all of those things without truly knowing him? Perhaps Riley didn't know him either, but she knew enough. The frustration and anger building up inside of Derek Hale wasn’t hard to miss, but the reasons behind it could have easily been mistaken. People didn’t act like that for nothing . . . There were always a reason. It had taken Riley some time, but she’d managed to piece together most of it.

Sure, there were probably plenty of other reasons buried deep inside the depths of Derek’s soul that no one else knew, but she felt determined to understand them. It felt easier that way, focusing on someone else's problems so that she didn’t have to focus on hers. But the majority of what caused the most trouble in Derek’s life had to of been the fire. To have put his trust into Kate Argent, a hunter who had thrown herself at a young and naive child in order to get closer to the family, only to have her betray him in the end. Kate murdered eight innocent members of the Hale family. Losing someone was hard enough, but eight people at one time felt undoubtedly crushing.

For Riley to have lost her mom, having to pick up what she could and move on, had left an impression she could never truly shake. Like carrying around a bag of guilt ridden bricks, trudging along some days just felt harder than others. But Derek . . . He made it look so easy. He wore a mask that composed his emotions and carried the weight as if it were nothing. But maybe it was more than something. Maybe it was hard for him to shoulder the guilt, and thats why he preferred to be alone. It’s why his temper flared every now and again.

There was a method to his madness, but no one had ever tried to understand it.

The front door to the bakery dinged then, signaling the entrance of the final customer of the night. Without looking up, keeping her eyes strained on the rag within her fist as she scrubbed the counter, she greeted them with a bland tone. The customer did not respond, but instead, took a seat upon the stool at the counter across from Riley. Looking up in surprise, her lips parted with accusation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she huffed, looking into the glittering blue eyes of Isaac Lahey, “You do realize you’re a fugitive still, right?”

He grinned, a shallow dimple forming on the crease between his mouth and cheek. “Not for long.” He insinuated, folding his hands together on the table as he looked to her giddily. “I may have . . .” he trailed off, looking for the correct word to use, “persuaded Jackson to recant his statement to the Sheriff.”

 _“Persuaded?”_ Riley challenged, remembering that Jackson Whittemore had attested to witnessing Isaac and his father fighting the night he’d died.

He shrugged with a humored expression. “Beat him up— _persuaded_ —same thing!” Riley couldn’t help the snort that escaped her nose then, rolling her eyes at the beta before her. “You can expect me back at school bright and early.” He informed her.

As happy as she was to see his face again, she couldn’t quite understand why he’d show up here so late. Surely he didn’t come just to spread the good news. No, there had to be more to it. Riley pursed her lips, tossing her rag to the side as she leaned on the counter across from him. “Did Derek send you?” She questioned, already certain that must have been true.

Isaac’s eyes widened, feigning an appalled expression as he gasped. “What?” He scoffed. “Can’t a friend just stop in for some of Beacon Hills most famous coffee?” He grasped his chest, making a mockery out of how dramatic he was being.

Riley studied him for a second longer, finding the twinge within his eyes to be a dead giveaway. “He sent you.” She concluded evenly, but couldn’t help the way her lips cracked into a smile. Isaac’s did too, shaking his head when his full head of dirty blonde curls fell into his eyes.

“Derek’s worried about you.” He finally confessed.

At that, Riley rose an interested brow. If he was so worried, why hadn’t he come by instead? “Did he tell you what happened?” She asked, her tone dying down to exemplify the sudden shift in discussion. He nodded briefly, and by the looks of it, it seemed as if he knew more than she thought. But Riley did not pry, and instead held up a to—go cup for him to see, “You want that coffee you came for?” She questioned with a raised brow.

Isaac laughed, throwing back his head as if to refocus his composure. “You caught me,” he held up his hands in mock surrender, “I don’t actually even like coffee.”

“What?” Riley bellowed in surprise, her hazel eyes widening at his response. “How can you not like the smell of freshly brewed coffee?” She demanded jokingly. “It’s like breathing in sunshine and happiness!”

His smile seemed to die out as the conversation took a serious turn. “The smell,” he murmured, his blue eyes strained on the paper napkin he tore apart in his hands, “it reminds me of my father.” Riley’s expression fell, biting her tongue at her own insensitivity. Isaac’s relationship with his dad had always been tough to stomach. From the age of seven, up until the recent age of sixteen, he’d go to bed wishing he’d never wake up.

And when he did, it was the coffee brewing downstairs that reminded him that he’d have to endure another day. Another fight. Another relapse of his own self control. Those were the darkest days of his life, but it seemed better now with him gone. He felt content with living his life day to day without living in fear. “How about some hot chocolate?” Riley corrected, offering him a tender smile. “On the house.” At that, his thoughts seemed to diminish as he nodded.

Riley was careful with the steamer, having already deep cleaned it earlier in her shift as she prepped his drink with a mindful eye. Looking to the clock, noticing the time as it ticked a few minutes away from ten. “Anything else you want?” She asked, stirring in the chocolate syrup as she inclined her head towards the bakery display made up behind a glass fixture. “We toss it all at the end of the night anyway.”

His eyes widened excitedly, the way a three year olds did when given a treat.

Raking his eyes over the the half—dozen muffins, he pointed to the one that was clearly baked almost double the size. “That one.” Placing his drink on the counter and prepping his cranberry orange muffin on a paper plate, he ate it greedily in three whole bites.

 _“Jeez.”_ Riley huffed with amusement. “Is Derek even feeding you?” He chuckled lightly around a mouthful of food, wading the muffin wrapper into a ball within his fist once he was done. Riley rounded the corner of the cashwrap then, heading for the door as she switched the sign to ‘closed’ and locked the door. Before making any move to close down her cash drawers, she balanced an empty box between her hands, pursing her lips as she looked to Isaac. “Should we pack one up for him?”

The Beta had been living with Derek now for almost a month, but Riley wasn’t exactly sure where ‘home’ was for them. Isaac shook his head vigorously as he reached for another muffin, “Let him starve.”

Despite Isaac’s sarcasm, she packed up the left over baked goods before setting them aside and finishing her closing duties on her own. This was why she liked working there so much, because the owner trusted her enough to work on her own. Not only were the benefits good, but working the night shifts alone gave her more time to think. Perhaps, in a way, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Because when she thought too much about the present, or in a worser circumstance, the past, it was harder to reel herself back in. To keep those dark thoughts down wasn’t as easy as letting them out.

Finishing up her duties in a swift manner, it wasn’t long before she shut the lights off and escorted Isaac outside. And just like any other night shift she worked, she usually walked the few miles home. The jingle of the keys within Riley’s palm sounded as she locked up the bakery. Isaac towered over her, topping over six feet as he carried the box of muffins between two firm hands. “You wanna swing by for a bit?” He asked.

Riley’s eyes wandered the empty streets, figuring he’d walked there too. She debated for a moment, considering that it was a school night, but something in her willed her to go. Maybe it had something to do with not having seen Derek all weekend, but with a silent nod, she followed him across the street and further downtown. “It’s not that far, is it?” She asked, keeping up with his long strides as a cold breeze brushed past them.

He shook his head, but followed it with a small shrug. She hadn’t known where Derek had moved to ever since the county took over the Hale house, wondering if it was closer than before. It had only been a few blocks before he veered left suddenly, looking over his shoulder as he winked at her to keep up.

It must have been about a ten minute walk, leaving behind the safeness of the streetlights as they now treaded in the lower warehouse district of Beacon Hills. Her pace quickened, keeping close to him as her anxiety began to rise. “Where the hell are you taking me?” She hissed in a defensive tone, bypassing abandoned buildings as if it were somehow normal.

“Relax.” Isaac assured, completely at ease as he leisurely strolled down the sidewalk. “We’re almost there.”

He headed up the pathway then to an abandoned railway station, ghosting up along the side of the building with purpose. Riley followed behind, keeping her hands deeply plunged into the pockets of her coat as she rethought her earlier decision to come. He stopped then at a door, which use to be just a gaping whole in the wall until contractors sealed it up with a thick sheet of wood. The wood was peeled back, splintering at its crease as he tugged it open even wider as he nodded Riley forward. “Hell no.” She muttered, shaking her head insistently.

Isaac laughed, quirking his shoulder, “Suit yourself.”

He disappeared then, his chuckle echoing from the other side of the door as Riley shuffled nervously outside. Her head shifted from side to side, her eyes scanning the darkened alley before a sound startled her and she instinctively hurled herself through the opening behind the Beta. He was there, waiting for her as if he knew she would follow him.

The walkway was dimply lit by old and worn out florescent lights, tinged yellow from years of use. And as they moved further into the building, they came to a stairwell that lead to the subway platform. With a lodge stuck in her throat, Riley gulped it down nervously before gripping the railing within her tight fist and descending the stairs only a step behind Isaac.

 _Was this really where both he and Derek lived?_ , she thought to herself.

And as they stepped down from the last step, the room below seemed to spread into a wide space. What was once a thriving underground subway, was now a living quarter. It was brighter in here, though her eyes still took a moment to adjust before she could truly take everything in. Along the broken tracks was a subway car, slanted slightly to its right with it’s automatic doors torn from their hinges. And to the left of the room was Derek, seated on the edge of of his chair as he sorted through a stack of books. What was left of the Hale house, he’d transferred here. He looked up at her with a thoughtful expression, not having been expecting her. “Are apartments really that overrated?” She broke the ice with a half—assed joke, to which Derek rolled his eyes at.

He stood, approaching her with a humorous gleam within his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

“She brought us muffins!” Isaac shouted from across the platform, planting the box of baked goods on the makeshift table Derek had found.

Ignoring him, Riley couldn’t help her sarcasm as it leaked from between her plump lips. “I just had to come and see you’re new bachelor pad.” She hummed, her eyes roaming over the spacious platform with raised brows. A clutter of twisted sheet metal lay in a pile, thrown to the side with all the other abandoned, useless crap. She turned then to grin at him, “Your knack for interior decorating is—“

“Don’t say it.” Derek threatened, but his tone was light and casual.

“—What?” She snickered. “I was going to say impressive.” They looked at each other expectantly for a solid few seconds, unable to keep a straight face as both of their lips cracked at the corners. He knew his living situation wasn’t lavish, but it was the best he could do on such short notice. “Yep.” She nodded, taking a step forward toward the center of the room, “This is exactly how I pictured a werewolf lair to look like.”

Their bantering seemed appropriate, not having had a proper moment to feel at ease with everything that had been going on lately. But Derek still tried to pry, returning to his serious nature as he leaned against an open wall beside her. “You didn't just come to drop off muffins.”

He looked to her intently, but Riley shrugged off his stare with a roll of her shoulder. “And if I did?” She questioned, her voice fading into a charming tone. But his questionable expression did not falter, and so Riley crumpled and expelled a logical point. “You can stop by my apartment whenever you want, but I can’t do the same?”

Derek’s jaw hardened, seeing Isaac’s frame perk in interest from his peripheral vision. The Beta didn’t quite know the extent of Derek’s interest in Riley, and the Alpha planned to keep it that way. “Isaac,” he spoke confidently as if it were an order, “you should go to bed, you have school in the morning.”

The teen snorted, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “I’m a werewolf,” he reminded, “I don’t have a bed time.” His stubbornness was unparalleled than Riley truly knew, but it only caused Derek to pull his lips back over his teeth and direct a soft rumble in the Beta’s direction. Immediately, as if it were a threat, Isaac’s hands flew up in a surrendering manner. He stalked off towards the open subway car, disappearing inside under his Alpha’s direct order.

Riley’s lips turned down, but brought up another interesting fact. “He’s allowed back now, huh?” She murmured, keeping her eyes transfixed on the door Isaac had ventured through. “He said something about Jackson,” she enunciated, “and persuading.”

“I had a theory.” He confirmed suddenly. “The Kanima could either be Jackson or Lydia.”

“Lydia?” Riley pressed, her brows both raising in unison. “No way in hell it’s her.”

“And it’s not Jackson.” He confessed. He straightened his posture then, standing over her a good third of a foot as he analyzed her reaction. “I used some of the venom that the Kanima left behind the other night at the school. There’s a theory that says a snake can’t be poisoned by it’s own venom.”

“You used it on him?” Riley demanded with a flustered expression.

“He passed.” Derek corrected. “Which makes me suspicious of Lydia.”

Riley narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t be serious—“

“It’s not a coincidence.” He alleged. “Both of them were bit, yet neither of them turned.”


	18. Look at Us

During her third period class the following day, Riley skimmed the shelves of the library quietly. Her mind roamed thoughtfully, remembering every detail of this past weekend as it had somehow been more eventful than any before. From skipping school on Friday from drowning the night before, to Derek spending the night, training with Allison’s father and to top it all off by Derek driving her home late last night. It all seemed normal to her now, to be caught up in weekends like she’d use to before her mother passed away. Ever since then she’d been reclusive and introverted, but that wasn’t the case these days. With her fingers skimming the bindings of the books on the shelf before her, she eyed each title carefully as she narrowed it down to the textbook she’d need. Before she could pluck it from it’s spot, two heaving and wind blown teenagers staggered to a halt at her side. Scott’s cropped hair was wild from having sprinted across campus, his wide and brown eyes cast in a worrisome slit. But it was Stiles, with a gaping mouth as he caught his breath that seemed to stammer first. _“Werewolves.”_ He huffed between staggering breaths. _“Planning. Something. Bad.”_

Each word came in a gasp, his freckled face turned down in distain. “Wait— _what?_ ” Riley murmured, her head snaking back and forth to ensure no one close by could hear them. “Slow down,” she insisted, “what happened?”

Scott stepped forward then, having already gained his composure. “Did you know Isaac is allowed back at school?” He questioned carefully.

Nodding timidly, wondering if he remembered that both she and he shared first period. “He told me last night.” Riley confessed instead.

“Last night?” Stiles huffed with an accusatory tone.

She simply nodded, confused by their sudden interest as she shrugged a relaxed shoulder. “Yeah,” Riley concluded, “Derek said that Jackson recanted his statement to the Sheriff.”

The anxiety ridden kid stiffened, his whiskey colored eyes about to bulge from his head. “Derek?” He shared a knowingly look with Scott then, as if they knew something she did not. “Is that all he said?”

Raising a questioning brow, she looked to Scott for clarification. He simply nodded encouragingly, as if he knew she were withholding vital information. And with their recent pact to not lie to one another, she cleared her throat before shaking her head. “He said he tested Jackson.” She shuffled uneasily before the two teens. “To see if he was the Kanima.”

Again, Scott and Stiles shared a look with one another that signified an understanding. With a heavy breath falling restlessly from Scott’s clenched lips, he said, “I overheard Isaac and Erica talking.” He noted. “About how they were going to do some tests to find out who the kanima is.”

Riley felt her skin prickle suddenly, her mind registering his words as she remembered Derek’s words from the night before. _Two people had been bit, yet neither had been turned into werewolves._ It meant that the Kanima could be narrowed down to two people, Jackson and “Lydia.” Riley said aloud.

“Which means your psychotic—little Werewolf friend is going to hurt her.” Stiles ranted.

But Riley felt dazed, shaking her head as her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the sweeping chill. “Isaac wouldn’t do that.” She assured.

“If it’s Derek ordering them to test her,” Scott mentioned then, “they can’t say no to an Alpha.”

Riley thought briefly, sure, she couldn’t imagine sweet and lanky Isaac Lahey laying a hand on Lydia Martin, but it was all too easy to picture Derek doing so. “Did they say when?” She asked curtly.

“Fourth period.” Stiles stuttered, adjusting the strap to his backpack over his shoulder. “During the science lab Mr. Harris has planned.”

Wracking her brain for a way to dissuade the inevitable, Riley rambled off ways to prevent the test from happening. “We can pull Lydia from class—“

“Allison’s been trying.” Scott confirmed. “Lydia’s never missed a class” It was hard to save someone when they had no idea they needed saving. Lydia Martin was still considered relatively unaware about the supernatural world. “And I already tried talking Derek out of it.”

Riley frowned, coming to terms with the Alpha’s mindset. “If she’s the Kanima,” Riley theorized with a guilt stricken tone, “He won’t let her live.” Her jaw clenched. “Not when she’s killed innocent people.” And if what Derek thought to be true, was in fact, true, then that boiled down the likely suspects to be Jackson and Lydia. But if the jock had passed, that only meant the worst for her red—headed friend. “Wait,” Riley thought instinctively, “Maybe we can’t stop them from testing her,” she hummed, “but we can definitely stop them from killing her.”

“I don’t think Derek’s open to negotiation.” Stiles pointed out.

“We won’t have to negotiate with him,” Riley thought carefully, “not if we can prove Lydia’s not a threat.”

Scott pursed his lips, his tanned skin a striking contrast to his white t—shirt. “We can’t exactly ask her to prove it either.” The Beta recalled. “If she’s the Kanima she doesn’t know it.”

His words did not keep Riley from grasping at ideas within her own head, thinking back to last Thursday night as she suddenly smacked Stiles in the chest with the back of her hand. “What about the Beastiary?”

Stiles nodded sarcastically, “Oh! You mean that twenty—page depiction of the Kanima in Arcaic—Latin?” He rose his brow to her expectantly. “None of us have been able to translate it.”

“But what if it says somewhere in it that the Kanima isn’t as bad as Derek thinks?” She prompted. “It could at least buy us some time.” Her eyes scanned between both boys, gleaming with hope despite the current pressure that fell upon them all. “Do you have the printed copy?” She murmured, her voice low as a passing student sauntered by. Scott shifted within his backpack for a moment, retrieving the bestiary in paperback form. Riley grabbed it quickly, shuffling it beneath her arm as she nodded to them expectantly. “You two,” she pointed, “keep an eye on Lydia during Chem.”

Backtracking then as she headed for the aisle. “What are you going to do?” Stiles demanded.

Holding up the thick stack of papers as she waived them their way, “If Lydia really is the Kanima,” she mentioned, “I’m going to find a way to keep Derek from killing her.” With the bestiary in hand, Riley feverishly glided down the hallway of the front office just as the bell for fourth period rang. It rippled in her ears, echoing in waves as if to taunt her with what was to inevitably happen. Knowing that both Erica and Isaac were up to nothing good, she now seeked out the only person she could think to even help.

When she was not teaching AP French both first, third and seventh hour, Ms. Morrell was standing in as the student body counselor. But with her vast knowledge of diverse language, Riley could only hope that her expertise could somehow save Lydia Martin’s life.

The door to the counseling office was open as Marin Morrell bent over her desk as she used this free time to grade her last hours tests. Her dark skin was vibrantly illuminated by the sun peeking through the blinds of the window nearby. She looked up speculatively, raising an interested eyebrow as she studied Riley Haven idling in her doorway. _“Mademoiselle Haven,”_ she curled her tongue with a pristine accent, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Her French accent was by far more smooth than that of her American one. Her voice returned to a language she didn’t have to second guess then as Riley took an eager step forward. “I was hoping I could get some help on an assignment.” She pressed.

Ms. Morrell nodded, surprised once Riley took a seat in the chair across from her. “My tutoring hours are typically between three—thirty and five.” She reminded tenderly as Riley clasped the crisp papered edges of the Bestiary between her hands.

“I don’t need help with French.” Riley promised, though the expression on Marin’s face arguably stated otherwise. “I’m working on a—“ Riley stopped mid sentence, searching for the right way to explain what she needed help with. Morrell sat patiently across from her, hands folded and interest peaked. “—a, um, project for History.” She muttered quickly after a moment of deliberation. “We have to do research on a mythological creature based on our family heritage and . . . “ She trailed off nervously again as she handed the paperback printed version of the Bestiary to Ms. Morrell.

 _“Hm.”_ Marin hummed in a casual tone, scanning over the front page. Her eyes made out the detailed depiction of a humanoid lizard before clicking her tongue. “Italian.” She clarified to herself as she made a glance over to Riley subtly. “You chose the mythological creature originating from Rome.”

So perplexed by Marin’s assumption, Riley played along with an awkward shrug of her shoulder. “Can you help me translate it?”

It was Morrell’s turn to shrug her shoulder, pursing her lips as she glanced back at the papers within her hands. “I’m familiar with most romance languages,” she hinted, “but this seems to be just a little out of my reach.”

Feeling as if she could sense Marin’s hesitancy, Riley widened her eyes as her hands balled into fists behind her back. “Please?” She asked quickly, her plea startling the teacher. “My grade is depending on it.”

She nodded, frowning down at the paper before look back up to her student. “Alright,” she agreed with a low breath. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her jaw squaring as she tried to differentiate the language from what she was familiar with. _“Kan—im—ah?”_ She enunciated the word slowly, looking to Riley for clarification as she gave her an encouraging nod. “Like the wolf,” she began to slowly translate, “it’s power is greatest at the moon’s peak.” She paused for a second, her full lips tugging at the corners. _“Huh,”_ she laughed, “sounds like a werewolf.” Uncomfortable at her rather direct assumption, Riley awkwardly agreed with a tight lipped chuckle of her own. “Like the wolf,” Marin began again, “the Kanima is a social creature. Where the wolf seeks a pack, a Kanima . . . “ She struggled for a moment again, trying to make out the foreign syllables before sighing with content, “. . . Seeks a friend.”

Riley gulped thickly before snatching the papers from Morrell’s hands as she hurriedly thanked her and sprinted out of her office.

Marin Morrell’s translation of the Kanima hadn’t really made much sense to Riley, but as the end of fourth period came to a close, she had much more pressing issues to deal with. Approaching the end of the hall in which her and Stiles’ lockers coincided, she could see both Scott and Stiles coming at her with the same sense of urgency. And by the ghostly pale shades upon their faces, Riley already knew what they were going to say.

“She didn’t pass.” Scott huffed as they came to a stuttering halt at one another’s sides.

Riley’s eyes raked the hallway, skimming the passing faces as she watched Lydia Martin waltz out of Chem without a care in the world. Of course she had no idea what kind of danger she was now put in, but Allison kept a close stride beside her as if to keep the red—haired teen safe for now. Lydia had digested the Kanima venom the same way Jackson had, and unlike him, Lydia hadn’t been paralyzed by it’s toxicity.

Holding up the book with a roll of her eyes, “The Bestiary was a dead end too.” She recounted, knowing that it’s search for friendship wasn’t going to win over Derek Hale like she’d hoped.

“He’s going to kill her.” Stiles’ gaze fell upon Lydia as she gossiped with Allison in the hallway across from them. “Derek’s going to kill her and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Riley shook her head, “We’re not going to let that happen.” 

“Once the clock hits three,” Scott hinted, “Derek will be coming for her.” And with the normalcy of the school day ending, so would Lydia Martin’s life. Becoming flustered, Scott shook his head before prodding the pads of his fingers against his temples for clarity. “And if I don’t make up my Algebra test after school I’m going to fail the semester and my mom is going to kill _me_.”

His anxiety ridden body began to bloat with pressure, feeling the extremity of it as it pulsated beneath his skin. The troubles between being a teenager and a werewolf were much more complicated than one could fathom. Torn between saving his friends or moving on to Junior year. And Riley could see his expression falter as he chose Lydia, feeling a guilt shift upon her shoulders as she she took a deep breath to keep herself level—headed. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she exclaimed looking to Stiles, “You and Allison are going to take Lydia to Scott’s house. You,” she put a light hand on Scott’s shoulder, “are going to take that test and as soon as you nail it,” she bargained, “you go straight home. The more people we have protecting Lydia, the harder it’ll be for Derek to get to her.”

Scott took an easy breath, feeling his tense stance begin to relax as Riley thought everything through. “And what about you?” He murmured.

“The more people we have on our side the better.” she reminded, “I’ll meet you at the house.”

 

###

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When the final school bell rang, the halls seemed to flood with students as they made their way toward the parking lot. Riley seemingly followed, her eyes darting back and forth as she scanned the features of each student passing by. It was one in particular that she searched for, knowing his help would be needed despite whether or not she wanted it. Putting all of her trust into Stiles and Allison, counting on them to get Lydia safely to Scott’s house, is what put her on edge. Feeling as if time were running out if she did not move quicker. Up ahead, with his wide shoulders tucked beneath his designer leather jacket, heading for the exit to the school, Riley could see Jackson Whittemore descend the steps to his silver Porsche.

Bounding after him, squirming between closely knit underclassmen to catch up, it was when he reached the side walk that Riley called out to him. “Hey!” She bellowed, her strides quickening into a sprint. “Jackson!” The jock turned over his shoulder, his brilliantly hued baby blue eyes shielded behind his aviators. He took one look to see who had called him, but he’d recognize her voice anywhere, before turning back around and heading toward his car again. He held no interest in what she had to say, a snobbish grin creasing his cheek when he could hear her feet clamor against the concrete as she tried to catch up to him.

To his surprise, she did, coming to a dead stop once she was able to position herself in front of him. Jackson paused, his brows angled down as if to scold her from behind his sunglasses. Riley caught her breath for a second, putting her hand up to keep him from surpassing her. “Where are you going?” She asked adamantly as if to break the ice.

“Home.” He enunciated in an annoyed tone. “You know,” Jackson snipped, “the million dollar mansion on the corner of third and Dupont?” As if to brag about his affluent upbringing, he only came off as a pretentious asshole.

 _As always_.

Letting his snide comment slip under the rug, a heavy breath ghosted from her lips as she rolled her eyes. Unable to put up with his attitude, especially right now, she cut right to the point. “Look,” she said uneasily, glancing around at the bypassing students, “I know that you passed Derek’s test.” She explained, “But you’re not the only one he went after, okay?”

He snorted, “And I’m suppose to care, because . . . ?” Drawing out his selfish charm. He made a move to go around her, but Riley’s hand wrapped around the burley swell of his bicep to stop him.

“Because he did the same test on Lydia.” She concluded sharply, drawing him back to face her. Riley’s expression became grave then, her head tilting back and forth in slow and short spurts as she thought about how to phrase this. “She didn’t pass, Jackson.”

Though his eyes were hidden, she could see the slightest shift of his lips as they turned down for just a fraction of a second. Knowing that Derek had been looking for the creature called a Kanima, he couldn’t quite picture his now ex—girlfriend as the scaled, bi—pedaled lizard. And even if she was, Lydia Martin was not his to care about anymore.

He shook off Rileys clutch on him, dusting off the sleeve of his jacket where she’d held onto it as if the custom made Italian leather jacket would be ruined by her touch. “She’s not my problem anymore.” He spat.

Jackson’s hands were clutched around his car keys so incredibly tight, that he felt the jagged edge of his car key dig into his skin. Perhaps it were a good thing, as he probably would have shoved her out of his way by now if it weren’t. Sensing his hostility, Riley glared at his indifference to this hectic situation. “You know what he’ll do to her.” She responded in a just as equally harsh tone. “We can’t let Lydia get hurt—“

“Why would I care about her?” He demanded suddenly. “Or you? Or any of your other little faggot friends?”

He pushed past her this time, clipping her shoulder with his as he stalked off towards his sports car. Did she honestly expect him to drop everything to keep his ex safe? “Because you still love her.” Riley called after him. _There had to be some form of human decency still inside Jackson_ , she theorized. But he simply shook his head while he unlocked the drivers side door to his car. “You have to at least still care about her!” Her accusation made him come to a stop, his hand on the lever of the car door as his eyes found the reflection of himself within the window. He studied it for a second, trying to rationalize when or if he’d ever truly stop caring about Lydia Martin. Sure, he could play himself up to be an emotionless jock, but that didn’t quite mask the knot in his stomach that tightened each time he heard her name out loud.

People like Lydia left impressions on people, ones they would never quite shake.

 

###

###

 

 

The McCall home seemed quiet as Riley and Jackson parked at the curb, the sun seeming to set earlier on in the day during the winter as the sky darkened in the West. Stiles’ blue Jeep idled in the driveway, a sure sign that their end of the plan had followed through too. Keeping a steady eye on the shadows surrounding the house, Riley bound up the porch in a few long strides before knocking quickly on the front door. The curtains from the window moved, as if someone peaked through before the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked on the other side echoed gravely. It opened a crack, seeing the hesitant gleam of Stiles’ whiskey colored eyes before he swung the door open just enough for Riley and Jackson to glide through.

Most of the lights inside were turned off, as if to fool Derek Hale that no one was home.

Allison and Lydia were perched at the foot of the stairs. The Argent was attentive and wary as the red—haired teen pursed her lips at seeing Jackson. “What’s he doing here?” She asked, pointing a manicured hand at the Co—Captain of the Lacrosse team. They hadn’t spoken since their very public falling out.

“We told you already,” Stiles piped in, using his awkward charm to persuade her, “we’re having a study group for the big Chem test coming up.”

Lydia’s brows furrowed in perplexion. “It’s not for another three weeks.”

Caught up in a flustered lie, Allison chimed in to assure her friend. “We’re getting a head start.”

Feeling the tension cloud between the five of them, Riley nudged Jackson with a light jab of her elbow. “Why don’t you and Lydia go up to Scott’s room,” she encouraged with a deep undertone of her voice, “and get the textbooks set up?” Jackson caught on, knowing that he’d be in charge of looking after her in the safety of the werewolf’s room. “We’re gonna grab a few snacks and be up in a minute.” She promised, waiving to herself, Stiles and Allison. Lydia rolled her eyes, but did not complain. Oblivious to the danger she was in, or the lengths her friends were going to to keep her safe, she followed Jackson up the stairs with a reluctant expression.

Waiting until they heard the click of Lydia’s heels die out, Stiles sprung for the front door again. His clumsy hands quickly flicked the locks back into place, biting the inside of his cheeks as he drew back the curtain of the side window, feverishly skimming the front lawn with his eyes. “Guys,” he gulped, taking a step back from the window as he let the curtain fall back into place, “He’s here.” At those words, Riley felt a chill weave within her spine. As if her blood had run cold, her fingertips falling numb at the thought of why Derek had come. She stepped forward with stiff legs, her nimble fingers curling around the edge of the curtain as she drew it back slightly. Standing among the patch of green grass on the McCall’s front yard, was Derek and his pack. “We’re all going to die.” Stiles’ voice squeaked, so sure that their plan was not bulletproof.

Riley bit her lip, the departing sun casted the neighborhood in an eerie darkness. “Any word from Scott?” She asked, glancing at her phone within her back pocket as the time rounded to nearly four—thirty.

No one spoke up, which was a dead giveaway of their answer. He must have still been at the school retaking his test.

Riley looked back out through the window again, only able to visibly see Derek and Erica as they faced the house in a threatening demeanor. Isaac and Boyd must have lurked off, looking for possible entry points into Scott’s home, and if they found one, Riley couldn’t exactly imagine what would happen.

Allison must have had the same idea, reaching into her book bag for her cross bow. With a flick of her wrist it unclipped from its folded up compact and into a wide dart. It was her weapon of choice, one that could possibly save their friend from dying. Riley bent at the waist then, her hand slid down the length of her leg until she reached the opening of her boots tied at her ankles. The handle to the ring dagger was carefully concealed within it’s lining, pulling it out with a shaking palm. She didn’t like holding it for this reason. Not when she knew she’d have to use it on one of them.

Derek and his pack weren’t there to just scare them. They’d do anything they had to to get their hands on Lydia. With their mind so set on killing her, they were unable to focus on any alternatives. To them, Lydia was the Kanima, a ruthless killer. But even if that were true, Riley didn’t believe in blood for blood. There had to be other ways of controlling the creature burrowing within her friend.

“They aren’t going to leave without a fight.” Allison murmured.

Stiles agreed with a quick and erratic nod of his head. “Derek’s orchestrating this thing, right?” He valiantly expressed. “If we take him out, then the rest of them won’t follow through.”

“You want us to take on an experienced werewolf?” Riley huffed with a raise of her brow.

Shrugging suggestively, as if it were their only choice, “Maybe Allison can shoot him?” He pointed to the cross—bow held firmly in her hands at her hip. “Preferably in the head.” He carried on. “Sniper style, ya know?”

“If Scott can catch an arrow,” the hunter thoughtfully reminded, “Derek sure as hell can.”

Fed up with Stiles’ suggestions, Riley took a deep breath to clear her mind before interjecting. “No ones shooting anyone.” She clarified. “Not unless we absolutely have to.”

Waiving a hand at the door separating them and the wolves, Stiles mentioned curtly, “If you haven’t noticed, Riley, they aren’t going to just back down, okay? They’ve got claws and fangs and all I’ve got is a baseball bat! I don’t like the odds!”

“Then we make them.” Riley muttered.

“Make them?” Stiles demanded. “What’re we gonna do? Ask them politely—“

Allison interrupted Stiles’ rant then, “Maybe she’s right.” The brunette confessed suddenly, looking to Riley with a calculative gleam within her eyes. “If Derek’s going to listen to anyone here, it’s going to be her.”

“Me?” Riley questioned in surprise.

With a nod of her head, she gave her friend a knowing look. One that suggested that both she and Derek had an understanding of one another that no one else quite knew of. But Allison knew, ever since the weekend prior when she’d met Derek at Riley’s front door, she knew. No one else hung around with him, and it was mostly because no one had figured him out yet. Riley had. And perhaps Riley was the key to keeping Lydia safe.

A part of her must have known the hunter was right, because she felt as if her word might be the only thing to make him budge.

If Derek truly cared about her for even fraction of the amount that Riley did for him, he’d end this.

Riley gripped her ring dagger tighter, holding it flush against her wrist as she contemplated wisely. If this was all she could do to help keep her friend alive, she had to play at it the best that she could. With a stiff roll of her shoulders, Riley nodded before reaching her hand for the deadbolt of the McCall home.

Her breathing felt heavy within her lungs, her pulse racing as her heart beat numbly within her chest. With a doubtful quake of her hand, she opened the front door slowly. The echo of it’s creaking made her flesh pepper with bumps, swallowing the lump within her throat before taking a brave step forward out onto the porch as the door shut behind her.

Almost too afraid to look up, she found it difficult to pan her eyes to where she knew he stood at the end of the lawn. And he stood there, in the exact same stance, with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and his jaw hardened. Erica was no longer at his side as he now stood alone. Derek hadn’t expected her to be the one willing to talk this through, but then again, Riley had always seemed to surprise him. And as she walked forward, her eyes set boldly on him, she descended the porch steps with a look of resentment.

It irritated him to no end to see her caught up in this. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Riley paused a few feet before him, jutting out her chin as if to express her disdain. “I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t trying to hurt my friend.”

Her tone came off as remarkably tactless. A side of her he hadn’t quite seen before. He dismissed her comment, “Lydia is not your friend.” Derek prompted, reminding her that the red—head and she were not exactly close.

But friendship did not mean Lydia’s life wasn’t worth sparing. “I once said the same about you.” Riley redirected sadly. It had been months ago now that she’d first met him, and while everyone else had warned her that Derek wasn’t a good friend to keep, she’d made attempts to be someone he could rely on. And her words settled deeply into his skin, bursting through the steel he tried to shield himself with. “I mean look at us, Derek.” Riley emphasized, waiving at the empty space between them.

With a hardened jaw, Derek’s stubbled cheeks seemingly became hollow. “I’m not the one holding a knife.” He pointed out, his eyes subtly narrowing at the dagger hidden within her hand.

Replying with such bluntness, “I’m not the one trying to kill a sixteen year old girl.”

The fists within his jacket raised in a questioning manner, “What do you want me to do, Riley?” He seethed defensively. “She’s murdered innocent people.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” Riley fought back with insistent, hazel eyes. “She’s just as much of a victim as them.” Insinuating that Peter’s attack on her almost two months prior had set all of this in motion.

But Derek stood before her, stubbornly shaking his head as if to deflect her assumptions. “Even Stiles calls her cold blooded.” He indicated. “I can’t just sit back and let something as dangerous as her live.” He pointed to the poorly lit house positioned behind Riley, taking two steps forward as if he were going to waltz right in.

Instinctively grasping his wrist with her shuddering palm, Riley stopped him. The warmth of her hand wrapped around his skin made his throat swell, wanting to yank it out of her reach in fear she’d sear the flesh right from his bone. But he didn’t, he let her tenderly engulf his hands with teary eyes. Looking up to him with a flood of despondency threatening to brim over the waterline of her eyes, an unmeasurable amount of hesitancy ghosted along Derek Hale’s spine. “Please,” Riley begged with more than enough grief emanating from her body than Derek could imagine. “There’s always another way.”

He wanted to believe her, but how else could they contain a monster that didn’t even know it was one? How else could you stop a killer, if not by killing it itself? Riley stood before him, so sure of another way that wouldn’t end in bloodshed . . . But didn’t she realize that bloodshed was inevitable? Was she too naive to think that not all monsters could be saved?

 _She must have,_ Derek thought, _otherwise she would have already given up on him._

Looking deeper into her stare, he could start to envision just how her brain must have worked. So tied up in wanting absolution for the ones people depicted as monstrous that she couldn’t even begin to consider the harm that came with it. People like her were not common, the kind that could see the horrors and still claim some part of it rectifiable. He wished he could see things the way she did. Maybe it would cure him of his insufferable need to always be the hero. And if he tried hard enough, he could imagine ways to save Lydia Martin. Ways that could mend the uncertainty clouding the teenage girls mind. It was, after all, his uncle that made her this way. Peter would have done exactly what Derek was doing now, and he couldn’t quite remember when he’d slowly started to become the kind of Alpha he’d been. Derek didn’t wan’t to be like Peter. He didn’t want the blood on his hands or the fear in his name.

His tense frame seemed to relax under Riley’s hand, an indication that he was open to suggestions.

But it was the sound of glass shattering that startled them both, turning to face the once quiet house as a copious amount of chaos filtered from its walls. Derek’s reluctance had come too late, able to hear the sounds of his Beta’s breaking inside under his earlier orders echo loudly. Riley’s grip on him was pried away, taking two long strides back toward the house in disbelief. A part of her had felt as if she’d broken through to him, but the sounds of fighting coming from inside signified she had not. It had only lasted a mere thirty seconds, but to the ears of an outsider, it felt like a lifetime before the sounds of a familiar snarl ricochetted threateningly throughout the house.

It came from Scott McCall as the house fell deafeningly silent once more.

The front door to his home burst wide open as the werewolf dragged two of Derek’s Beta’s outside by their throats. They squirmed around his fist latched around their necks, yanking them along the length of the porch before viciously hurling their bodies onto the lush green grass of his front lawn. The Beta’s fell at Derek’s feet, choking on their own air as Scott allowed a deep growl to rumble through his chest. Derek, displeased, yet somehow impressed, looked to the werewolf standing across from him. “I think I know why you keep refusing me.” He noted directly. “You’re not an Omega, Scott. You’re already an Alpha to your own pack.” His eyes skimmed from Scott, to Riley and then to Stiles and Allison shuffling behind their leader. Scott would never join Derek’s pack, not when their morals did not align.

Riley backed up a few feet, standing proudly on the side that belonged to her friends as she turned back to face Derek. They stood, pack to pack, as if to challenge one another to make a move. But neither did, they held their ground until a low and guttural hiss ignited throughout the night air. Like a sweeping sense of dëj vu, it left the hairs on the back of Riley’s neck ramrod straight.

Their eyes all seemed to ignite at the sound, finding the direction in which it came, they all gazed up at the roof of the McCall home. And from the open window of Scott’s bedroom emerged a familiar creature, scaled with slitted yellow eyes, as it sauntered along the roof on all fours. The Kanima was hidden within the darkness that sheltered it, but Riley felt an urgency unlike any other now that she knew the truth behind the creatures identity. A sound seemed to drown out its hiss, the echo of heels hastily clicking along the wooden floorboards as a frightened teenage girl then pushed her way out of the front door. Lydia Martin was visibly shaken, her lips trembling as she looked between Scott and Allison. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” She demanded in a shrill cry.

“It’s not Lydia.” Isaac murmured in surprise as he leaned back onto his elbows, gaining a better look at the Kanima lurking high above.

Riley trailed her eyes away from the stunned red head, realization tumbling down at her as she glanced up at the creature once more. _“It’s Jackson.”_


	19. Rock, Paper, Scissors.

The Kanima rushed off, disappearing into the night as the two packs stared after it in shock. And just like that, it had set everything else into motion as her friends broke into chaos around her. Within her frazzled vision, Riley could make out Allison consoling Lydia, Scott and Stiles talking quickly and Derek handing off the keys to his Camaro to Boyd before urging his youngest Beta to take Isaac and Erica home.

Seeing Scott and Stiles sprinting for the Jeep then, she felt her knees buckle with what should have been resistance, but ended up pushing her into a dead run after them. Without even thinking, with her dagger still clutched within her hand, she climbed over the front seat of the Jeep before settling into it’s back. Stiles revved the engine adamantly as Scott and Derek discussed something just out of earshot of Riley, before nodding in agreement as they both headed for the passenger side door.

To Riley’s surprise, Derek positioned himself in the back seat beside her at the last minute.

Scott slammed the passenger side door and buckled himself in, rolling down his window as Stiles drove down the general direction in which the Kanima had taken off in. It was silent for the first few minutes, feeling the buzz of chaotic energy simmer down before Riley opened her mouth. “Was that not the biggest fucking plot twist or what?”

Having been so sure that Lydia was the Kanima, due to her immunity to it’s venom, all four of them felt perplexed by the actuality of it’s identity. Jackson had become paralyzed, which defied the laws of science in some cases. A snake can’t be poisoned by it’s own venom . . . Then how had it been possible for Jackson? The answers seemed unclear as Stiles followed the sprinting creature downtown to the rural parts of the city.

And as they chased it through the streets, all Derek could think about was how he’d been wrong. He would have gladly followed through with his plan, which would have left Lydia, innocently unaware, dead. And her wrongful death would have fallen upon his shoulders, just like the innocent deaths of many others from times before. How could it be that his instincts were so off? What would his mother have thought about his stance as an Alpha?

He shook the thought from his head as the Jeep came to a dead stop. “I can’t get through here.” The spastic teen announced, the bumper of his Jeep just a few inches away from a padlock enclosed fence. It was part of a construction zone operating on the underpass of a highway ramp.

Scott didn’t respond, but instead leapt from the passenger side seat before scaling the fence. Derek followed suit, turning over his shoulder before he exited the vehicle to demand that they both stay in the car. And then he disappeared where the headlights could not reach, seeking out the Kanima in an attempt at subduing him.

Leaning forward, Riley balanced her chin on the back of Stiles’ seat as her eyes cautiously skimmed the dark underpass. “He would have listened to you.” He mentioned after a few moments of silence between them.

 _“What?”_ Riley furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Derek.” Stiles insisted. “When we all thought it was Lydia,” he drew her back to the past, “He was going to call off his pack from hurting her.” He’d watched their exchange through the window and safety of the McCall home. He’d seen the retraction of his command grace his expression. “Allison was right.” He hummed, looking at his hands to avoid catching her eyes in his rearview mirror. “He listened to you.”

Riley hadn’t thought about it that way. “It doesn’t even matter.” She assured promisingly. “It wasn’t even Lydia.”

“It does matter.” Stiles objected. “You and Derek . . .” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. _“ . . . Why didn’t you tell me?”_

Feeling the pressure begin to build, Riley huffed in disbelief. “You really want to talk about this right now?“ Her question was cut off then as a half a dozens loud bangs rang through the night air. Riley paused for a second before continuing, _“Were--were those gunshots?”_

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “They sure as hell weren’t fireworks.”

Scott’s figure emerged then within the beams of the headlights, scaling the wire fence with haggard breaths before falling back into the passenger seat. “Go!” He instructed. _“Go! Go! Go!”_

“Where’s Derek?” Riley heard herself ask as Stiles reversed his car quickly.

“He’s going after it on foot!” Scott breathed unevenly.

Stiles continued to drive as Scott silently pointed out directions. “What the hell happened back there?” His best friend inquired.

“Allison must have told her dad.” The werewolf remarked. “Because he and Gerard showed up.”

“Is that who was shooting?” Riley wondered, to which he nodded. For a moment all she could truly think about was if the Argents were aiming at Jackson or Derek. Because knowing their past histories, it could have so easily been either.

The streets passed by in what felt like a blur, unable to accurately identify the street signs as they wheezed past them. Stiles drove frantically, making sharp right hand turns with his foot still flushed against the gas pedal. Trying to hunt down Jackson before anyone else could get hurt seemed to be the havoc flooding feeling that drowned out the cab of the Jeep.

He was already responsible for two deaths, and possibly even more that Riley hadn’t pinned on him quite yet. The true question seemed to be was why? Why was he killing people? And most importantly, did he know that he was doing it? Trying to rationalize an answer felt impossible as Stiles slammed on the breaks at Scott’s sudden request.

The werewolf peered frantically out his open window. “I lost him!”

Stiles parked at the curb of a well known corner store, just a few blocks away from where Riley worked. It was Scott who exited the car first, heading down the back entrance of an alley--way as Riley sprinted to keep up with his long strides. “Can’t you just find it’s scent?” The freckle faced kid asked from a few steps behind.

Scott’s pace slowed to a brisk walk as they approached the side of an upcoming building. Riley could hear the pulsating music echo from inside, seeing the green, neon sign that flashed rapidly to draw attention. It was a club they approached, one with a reputation for serving minors. “I don’t think it has one.” The werewolf confessed, flaring his nostrils once more, trying to distinguish a scent apart from anything else, but found there wasn’t one to notice.

 _“Great.”_ Stiles nodded in a cynical tone. “Just great.” He drew out the word as if to assure them he was only kidding. Things were in fact, not great.

Riley ignored his sharpened words, looking to Scott expectantly. “What do you think it wants?”

Stiles snorted, “By the murderous look in it’s eye,” he recalled, “I’m assuming it wants someone dead.” Scott glared at him, fed up with his tactless approach at finding a solution. Understanding his friends silent disdain, Stiles exhaled loudly, “What? I’m a hundred—and—forty—seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bones!” He murmured in self deprecation. “Sarcasm is my only defense!”

Rounding the corner with a sly posture, Riley eyed the crowd of people lining up at the entrance of the club. “And if you don’t shut the hell up,” she threatened, “you’re going to get a size eight foot in you’re—“

 _“Enough.”_ Scott demanded with a stern tone. “How are we going to find it?”

Stiles shook his head in certainty, “Not it.” He reminded. _“Jackson.”_

Keeping a firm eye on his surroundings, Scott tried his best to pick up on any sort of clue as to where the creature had ventured off to. “How exactly did he pass Derek’s test anyway?” He wondered briefly.

“Maybe it’s an either _or_ thing?” Riley pursed her lips in contemplation. “I mean,” she ranted, “Derek said the Kanima can’t be poisoned by it’s own venom, right?” To which the two boys nodded. “When is the Kanima not the Kanima?”

A crease formed between Stiles brows, deep in thought as he considered it, “When it’s Jackson.”

“But that still doesn’t explain Lydia.” Scott pointed out.

Contemplating the reality behind his statement, Riley agreed that Lydia’s storyline was still a bit misplaced. Not having turned from the bite of an Alpha, yet somehow was still immune to the toxicity of the venom . . . It didn’t quite make sense. But then again, did anything in the supernatural world ever really make sense?

The three of them fell silent for a few moments as Riley peered around the corner of the building once more, scanning the influx of club goers as they flashed their ID’s at the front door. One in particular stood out to her, finding the dimpled cheeks and tender smile of Danny as he bypassed security. Surely his ID had been fake, but then again, this club had a reputation in faulty detections.

And once Danny made his way through the entrance, some form of clarity seemed to rain over Riley. Not having been the only one to notice the teenagers presence, it didn’t take long for the three of them to identify and connect the dots. Around the time of this revelation, Riley felt Stiles eagerly tug at her sleeve, his head tilted back with wide and entrapped eyes. “Uh—Guys?” He murmured, nodding up to the roof of the club.

A crevice, just small enough to filter in the fresh and cool air into the building, but wide enough to slide though, was where Riley caught sight of a creature scaling the wall. It’s scales reflected the green neon lights like a beacon, signaling to them of the Kanima’s presence. If Jackson really was on the hunt to hurt someone, Riley had a strong feeling it would be Danny, his best friend since middle school.

Feeling a swell of panic begin to accumulate within her stomach, Riley trailed her eyes over the side of the building frantically. Already aware that the three of them wouldn’t make it past security in time, she found another back entrance from the alleyway. The boys followed her quick sprint toward it, fisting the handle within her palm, only to find it dead bolted shut. Scott stepped forward, assertively positioning himself between Riley and the door as he focused his werewolf strength into the sharp swipe of his hand. With enough force behind his swing, the deadbolt buckled as it splintered off from the old, wooden, worn out door.

Without any hesitation, he slipped inside with both Riley and Stiles close on his heels.

Entering through the staff entrance, they ghosted along the dark hallway as they felt the pulse of music radiate through the walls. Up ahead, behind a blocked out curtain, they could make out the distinct beam of neon lights flashing between it’s cracks. “We need to find Danny!” Riley’s voice rose over the music, though she was sure if it weren't for Scott’s keen Werewolf senses, he wouldn’t have heard her.

They pulled back the curtain sharply before finding themselves in the direct pathway of swaying, half—naked men. They performed in time to the music, clad in nothing but tight, latex briefs as the crowd of club goers cheered them on. As her eyes scanned the crowd, she came to discover a rather interesting feature . . . Every club goer she layed her eyes on was male. “I think this is a gay bar?” Riley suddenly found herself concluding.

She looked to her left, finding Stiles drowning in a sea of half—clothed men as they ground their bodies in a tightly knit formation around him. His expression was surprised as he tried to maneuver himself out of the crowd of men and back to his friends. “No shit!” He huffed once he broke free, standing closer to Riley in fear that he’d be sucked into the vortex of swaying bodies once more.

Keeping her back to the bar as both Scott and Stiles tried to finesse themselves a couple of beers, Riley’s gaze scanned the crowd of men with a watchful eye. Unsure of Jackson’s— _the Kanima’s_ —intentions, she knew Danny’s safety was at stake. But she saw him, swaying beneath a flash of pink neon light without a care in the world.

And she found herself moving toward him without a second thought, her hands quaking from the uncertainty, until she finally paused before him. _‘You’re in danger!’_ , she wanted to scream at him, but she found that her voice was trapped within the dry cavity of her throat. But as he swayed, he tilted his head back and took a swig of his drink, finding her line of sight easily. “Hey!” He greeted in surprise, his expression curious and faded. She could tell by the slightest slur of his speech, that he was already tipsy.

He stumbled forward slightly as Riley wrapped her hand around his forearm for stability. “What’re . . . What are you doing here?” He asked, his lean body never missing a beat as it moved in time to the music pulsing from the speakers.

Now that she had Danny in her line of sight, she had no intention of losing him. “You know,” she shrugged, leaning in closer to speak in his ear, “just hanging out.”

And though it seemed odd to him to see her here, he didn’t question it. He was feeling too good to dampen his mood with frivolous wonder. And his smile, so bright and inviting somehow left her teeth gnawing at the insides of her own cheek. He had no idea what was happening, but perhaps that was a good thing, Riley presumed. The less he knew, the better. All she needed to do was keep him safe.

It couldn’t be that hard, could it? And as she peered back over her shoulder, finding Scott at the other end of club with a sea of people between them, she could see his complexion pale. His eyes widened as he subtly tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. Riley followed his line of sight slowly, being sure not to draw attention to herself as she saw the neon lights reflect off the scales of a slowly moving figure.

She could barely see it as the Kanima weaved between the ceiling lights, camouflaged by the darkness. It made it’s way toward them, hovering just a mere ten feet above. Her instinct was to run, but she found that her limbs were locked into place. And in the distance, she could see Scott shoving people out of his way, trying to get to them as fast as he could. But it was to no avail, just like how Stiles had been sucked into the black hole of swaying bodies, Scott’s advance seemed to die out too.

When Riley looked back up at the ceiling then, the Kanima was gone.

Feeling the patter of her heart as it threatened to break through her ribs, Riley’s hold on Danny’s arm seemed to tighten. Her eyes were wild and full of fire, whipping her gaze back and forth as she tried to find Jackson again. And it wasn’t until she heard the screams that she knew, swiveling quickly on her heel to see body after body dropping to the ground below. But her eyes could not adjust in time, seeing the hoards of men begin to scatter, leaping over the bodies as the Kanima worked it’s way through the crowd, paralyzing people one after the other.

Danny’s body felt tense then beneath Riley’s grasp, turning back to see him raise his hand to cup the back of his neck. His smile was gone, his eyes blackening as if he were scared. He buckled at his knees, falling to the ground at Riley’s feet. And behind where Danny had once stood, now resided a lizard—like humanoid, crouched on all fours as it’s tail swayed in a threatening manner.

It’s yellow slitted eyes were on her now as the club began to clear out, but she felt a shoulder brush hers, looking up at her side to see a pair of searing red eyes narrowed in Jackson’s direction. “Get out of here.” Derek snarled around a mouthful of teeth to her, his claws extracting as he challenged the Kanima to come closer.

He must have followed them there from the construction zone.

Riley did not hesitate, backtracking slowly at first before falling into a dead sprint in the opposite direction. The parking lot was full of bystanders. It was loud, with screaming and horns of cars honking, and all Riley could do was run. Sprinting until she reached the street, following the pavement until it lead her to the alleyway where Stiles’ Jeep was still parked. Bracing herself against the hood of it’s frame, it took her a moment to catch her breath.

Panting with shuddering shoulders, she found herself on the brink of a panic attack. Feeling as if there were not enough room in her chest, her ribs stretched to their fullest capacity as if they could split her open from the inside out. A jitteriness overcame her, the veins in her body pulsating with quick and thick spurts. It was as if everything Argent had taught her hadn’t stuck, unable to efficiently defend herself and Danny, she anxiously wondered if he’d be okay.

The side door to the club that they’d used early suddenly burst open, her panicked lungs constricting at the sound of the door hitting the cement wall. Riley turned quickly, her eyes adjusting to the dark alley as a figure stumbled from it’s entryway. It was Jackson, in his own flesh, doubling over at her feet. His hands clutched at his stomach, his eyelids pale as he stretched onto his side and fell quiet. “Jackson?” Riley approached him nervously, his naked body beginning to bleed.

Of course they were wounds from an Alpha.

Adverting her eyes to anything above his naked waist, Riley’s panic seemed to subside as adrenaline took it’s place. She kneeled at his side, her fingers at his throat as she found the light pulse of his heart. _He wasn’t dead_ , she breathed in relief, _not yet at least._

The sound of quick footsteps drew her attention then, looking up to see both Scott and Stiles sprinting her way from the front of the alley. “What happened?” Stiles bellowed, before coming to an abrupt halt as he quickly shielded his eyes with a sheepish hand at Jackson.

“He’s hurt.” Riley pointed out, though the claw marks raking his body were obvious. “We can’t leave him here.” Although she hated Jackson, she was able to comprehend the difference between what was right and what was wrong.

Another form came into view, having come from the back entrance of the alley as if they’d fled from the emergency exit of the club. “He’ll heal.” Derek assured, his stance hovering just a few feet away from where Riley kneeled.

Scott shifted from where he stood, heading for the back of the Jeep before returning with a gray woolen blanket. He draped it over the Kanima’s human form, taking a step back as he tried to assess the situation clearly. “She’s right.” He said after a minute. “We can’t leave him here.”

Riley looked up at Derek, his shirt torn at the dip of his collar bone where the Kanima had struck him with it’s tail. It bled, though his body was already beginning to heal. Jackson’s . . . was not. “What about your apartment?” Stiles pointed out, looking to Riley expectantly. “We can keep him there till he wakes up and then we can question him—“

“Abso— _fucking_ —lutely not.” Riley snapped. “What about Scott’s?”

Her friend shook his head, “Not with my mom there.” At the sound of police sirens’ in the distance, they looked to one another with wide eyes. “We need to do something quick!” Scott urged, waiving his hand at the unconscious, bleeding and naked kid at their feet.

 _“Ugh!”_ Stiles groaned, motioning to Scott and Derek quickly. “Help me get him into the Jeep!” The last thing he’d need is to be caught by his Sheriff of a dad in this predicament.

Riley rolled back onto the balls of her feet, watching as Derek, Scott and Stiles grabbed ahold of Jackson’s frame and hoisted him into their arms. Riley quickened her pace to reach the Jeep first, opening the drivers side door before folding the front seat forward to make room. They shifted his body into the back seat, ensuring the blanket did not stray from any body part below his waist.

Reaching for the keys within his pocket, Stiles tossed them to Scott. “You and Riley,” he suggested his new plan in a quick voice, “Take my Jeep out to the preservation and wait for me.” The freckle faced teen then clapped Derek on the shoulder, “You’re going to drop me off at the police station.”

He began to backtrack with Derek in toe before Riley spoke up. “What the hell is your plan?”

“You’ll know if it works.”

###

###

The ride to the preserve was fairly quiet, situated in the seat beside Scott with a sullen expression. He could feel the anxiety emanating from her in waves, the nail of her thumb caught between her teeth. He knew she didn’t like this plan, but their options had been limited considering the circumstances. He parked near the cliff face, overlooking the town as the lights glimmered in the distance. A heavy breath finally fell from Riley’s unnerved lips, peering over her shoulder to look at Jackson.

He was stretched along the backseat of the Jeep. The wounds on his chest had stopped bleeding now, but the furrow in his brow suggested the pain hadn’t quite subsided. As much as she hated Jackson, she hated this situation more. “We can’t just kidnap him.” She sighed under her breath then, looking to Scott for reassurance.

The werewolf’s hands were drumming against the steering wheel, his gaze focused on Jackson’s reflection in his rearview mirror. “It’s for his own good.” He finally seemed to summarize. “He doesn’t know what he is.” Scott reminded her. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” It fell silent then as Riley registered the truth behind his words, finally nodding her head in a hesitant agreement.

 _Jackson had killed people_ , she argued internally. He’d slaughtered a hunter and a mechanic. He’d attacked her, Stiles and Derek at the high school. He’d gone after Danny. “We have to protect him.” She timidly breathed. “Not just from everyone else—“

“But from himself.” Scott glanced down at his intertwined hands, feeling a swell of fear lurch into his throat. Jackson had turned into the very monster that Scott had feared becoming. He hadn’t wanted to be so reckless, so angry and rampant. He’d focused on his gift for good, because who he was before he’d been bit didn’t have to change.

He wanted to be the compassionate boy his single mother had raised him to be. And all at once, it felt like reality had slapped him in his face. It could have easily been him. His concentrated control could have slipped and it could have been him that killed somebody . . . It still could be him, knowing that his tempered state on a full moon could easily trigger the need to dig his claws into something.

And all he could think about was who would he hurt if that ever did happen? Allison? Stiles? Riley? His own mother? He shook his head at the thought, knowing that Jackson’s path to destruction was only just beginning. “He needs to be watched twenty—four—seven.” Scott concluded. “We can’t let him out of our sight.” He feared that if they did, his killing streak would only grow. Riley silently nodded to herself, both knowing they couldn’t let Jackson return to school tomorrow. “I can’t skip class.” The boy beside her said briefly. “My mom would kill me.”

“I’ll do it.” Riley spoke almost automatically, to which Scott frowned. He knew she only agreed because she had no one to tell her she can’t. Still clueless to the extent of Riley’s past, it was clear to him that she was mourning someone. He could sense it in the grieving lapse in her pulse, in the blank stare of her eyes. _‘Maybe thats why her and Derek got along so well’_ , Scott thought carefully, _‘because they both had that same hollowed feeling in their gut’_.

A pair of headlights flashed in the distance, winding through the embankment of trees as it pulled up behind them. Riley’s body stiffened, her hands wound tightly around the edge of the passenger side seat. “It’s a cop.” Scott stammered, able to read the bold print alongside the prison transportation van.

His heart began to palpitate, sweat collecting nervously at the back of his neck. How much trouble would they be when once they found Jackson’s naked body in the back seat? Scott’s hand instinctively curled around the wheel, straining into fists as a panic settled between them. And then the drivers side of the van opened, and a mess of flailing limbs spilled from the cab before they caught their footing and stood upright.

 _“Stiles?”_ Riley gasped, reaching for the door handle as she got out of the Jeep and met him half way.

Her freckle—faced friend wore a goofy grin, one that didn’t truly understand the repercussions of his action. “Did you . . .” Scott eyed him incredulously. “Did you steal a prison transportation van?”

Stiles patted the back end of the van, the echo of his flesh against the metal caused Riley’s hands to tremble. “I said I had a plan,” he reminded, “not that you were going to like it.”

Seeming to turn a blind eye to the fact that his actions had dug them into a deeper hole. Not only had they kidnapped Jackson Whittemore, but now that had grand theft auto under their belts. “Are you fucking insane?” Riley bellowed suddenly, taking two long strides forward with anger.

“Okay—“ he said defensively, “I didn’t steal it! _I—I borrowed it_.”

His mindset was clouded, thinking what he did wasn’t as bad as it seemed. “These things have tracking devices in them, Stiles.” Scott hinted at, wondering defeatedly if perhaps the police were already on there way. “You know that right?”

But he was shaking his head before Scott could even finish his sentence. “I already deactivated it.” He promised, clapping his hands then as he suggestively pointed toward his Jeep. “Now help me get him inside before he wakes up and strangles us with his tail.”

Riley remained planted at the end of the van, rubbing at her temples to ease off the migraine that Stiles stupidity had brought on. Both he and Scott lugged Jackson’s limp frame from the Jeep before hurriedly maneuvering him into the back. “I have to get going,” Scott said once he smoothed out his shirt and stepped away from Jackson’s unconscious frame. “Or I’m going to miss curfew.”

Riley nodded, encouraging him to go before his mother, Melissa, could warrant a search party. He took off in a sprint toward the woods, heading in the direction of his home as his werewolf stamina carried him forward. She watched until he disappeared completely into the darkness, alerted back to the presence once she heard the passenger side door of the van slam shut.

With a duffel bag in hand, Stiles then approached her with a grin. “I made a quick stop,” he said, dropping the bag at their feet before he continued to rummage through it. “I got us snacks and drinks at the gas station— _and ooh_!” He spoke excitedly, fishing for something specific within the bag. “They had this!” He held up as small and clear packet. “It’s a bacon air freshener for the Jeep!”

Able to feel the actual bile rise into her throat at just the thought, she knew a bacon air freshener was the least troublesome thing Stiles could have boughten at that gas station. He laughed at her reaction, shoving the packet into his pocket before digging his hands through the duffel bag once more. “Here.” He said finally, pulling out a pair of grey sweatpants before tossing them to her.

She caught them with clumsy hands, shuffling them back and forth between her palms in confusion. “What?” She asked with a raised brow. “Am I suppose to put these on?”

The temperature was fairly brisk, knowing it’d drop into the low thirties later on that evening. Did he think her jeans wouldn’t be warm enough for her? But from his expression, giddy, yet somehow speculative, she knew that wasn’t that case. “You’re suppose to put them on _him._ ” He enunciated, nodding his head towards Jackson’s naked and blanket wrapped body in the back end of the van.

He stood then, picking up his duffel bag as he headed for the Jeep. Did—did he really expect her to do that? _“Oh, hell no!”_ She huffed, stomping after him as he tossed the duffel bag into the back seat. “Abso—fucking—lutely not, Stiles! _No way!_ ” Once she was close enough, she launched the bundle of sweats at the back of his head. “You do it!”

They landed on his shoulders, turning to face Riley with insistent eyes. “Why me?” He demanded.

“These are your pants!” She barked, feeling her skin crawl at just the thought. “You couldn’t even pay me enough!”

He sighed, raising a palm to calm her down. “Okay, fine!” He piped, thinking of a solution before taking a closer step towards her. “How about we settle this like adults?” He rested his fist within his open palm, challenging her to a duel. The winner of rock—paper—scissors wouldn’t have to dress Jackson Whittemore. “Best two out of three.” He ordered, waiting on her to match his position.

It took her a second to finally agree, and though she did so hesitantly, she placed her fist within her open palm too. “Rock,” She huffed, pounding her fist into her palm each time she spoke. “Paper, scissors—shoot!”

At that, their hands landed firmly within their palms according to the object they chose. Stiles’ once closed fist was know molded into a peace—sign, signaling he’d chosen scissors. Riley’s hand was flat . . . “One point for Stiles.” He said confidently, rolling his shoulders. “Riley—nothing!”

They dueled again, this time Riley kept her fist enclosed, choosing rock.

Stiles chose scissors.

His palms began to sweat as they entered the third and final round, contemplating his strategy as he eyed her down aggressively. Riley counted the duel down again, and on the final mark, Stiles chose rock with the hopes that Riley would have chosen scissors. She didn’t. Her hand was flat, signaling paper . . . And paper beat rock. She’d never felt so relieved as her tense hands dropped at her sides, her eyes rolling back into her head in a silent victory. “You cheated!” Stiles accused, but Riley was already headed toward the passenger side of the Jeep, leaving Stiles alone to do the dirty work.

###

###

Seated in the passenger side seat of the Jeep, Riley turned the rear view mirror slightly to the right as she positioned it just well enough to see the back of the transportation van. Up until now she’d only heard Stiles struggling, but now she watched with gleeful eyes and a wide smile as she zipped the jacket that he’d loaned her up to the base of her throat. Stiles was perched at the end of the van, the double doors opened as he wrestled with Jackson’s limp frame as he maneuvered the sweat pants on him inch by inch.

“Oh God!” She heard the frazzled teen cry out. “It touched me! _Oh my God!_ ” Clenching her teeth together to keep from laughing, she could only imagine how well it must have been going for him. From the mirror, she watched him violently slam the doors shut before wiping his hands on his denim clad thighs and stomping his way back to the Jeep. “I hate you!” He huffed as he situated himself in the drivers seat, his teeth chattering from the chilled air. “I hate you so much! You have no idea how much I hate you!”

Having lost the game of rock, paper, scissors, he’d been subjected to being up close and personal with Jackson’s naked body. Riley could only stifle a laugh, thanking whatever force it was that ensured it hadn’t been her instead.

And as Stiles turned in his seat, shuffling through the duffel bag in the back seat, Riley turned her attention toward the windshield. The Jeep faced the cliffs overlooking the town. Riley had never been to Look Out Point, but she understood why it was such a hidden gem. Form here she could see the glittering lights of the city in the distance. It felt calming being so far from it, until she remembered why she was here in the first place.

“Green or red?” Stiles interrupted her then, shimmying back into his seat as both hands offered her a sports drink. She grabbed the red one tentatively, unscrewing the lid before taking a small swig of the flavored water.

As she set the bottle in the cup holder nestled between them, she shifted her gaze back to the eerily silent van. “Do we have a plan if he gets out?” She asked warily.

“Oh, he’s not getting out.” Stiles hummed briskly. “I shackled him to the metal benches.”

He said it so casually, as if what they had just done hadn’t constituted as kidnapping. Riley simply nodded, and turned her gaze down to her hands instead. As much as she knew it was for the towns safety, as well as Jackson’s, she couldn’t help but feel as if what they had done was wrong. She wondered briefly what would happen in the morning once Jackson awoke, what he’d say, what he’d do . . .

“You know,” she finally spoke after a minute,” Jackson’s parents will probably come looking for him.”

Before she could even finish her sentence, Stiles was already shaking his head. It was like he’d already thought all this through, clearing his tracks as if no one would ever find them. He pulled out a phone then, noticeably more expensive, as Riley realized it wasn’t his. It was Jackson’s, scrolling through his contacts before texting his adoptive father. _“Hey dad,”_ Stiles spoke out loud as he typed frantically, _“Staying at a friends house tonight. Have an A.P. English test to study for. Talk to you later, love ya.”_

And as if to make a show of it, he jammed his slender finger against the ‘Send’ button with a grin. He slipped the phone back into the pocket of his hoodie before offering Riley a thumbs up. “That sounds awfully suspicious.” She snarked, shaking her head before powering down her own phone to conserve it’s battery. “I doubt Jackson’s the type to say _‘Love you’_ to anyone.”

A loud ping echoed off the steel metal of the interior of the Jeep, and for a moment, Riley’s stomach lurched into her throat, wondering if the sound indicated Jackson’s father had responded. But Stiles reached for his own phone then, and a swell of relief seeped into her chest as he scrolled through his text message swiftly. “It’s Derek.” He murmured. “He said Danny is at the Hospital, but he’ll be fine. He said Scott’s going to check up on him tomorrow.” Riley didn’t say anything, but allowed a feeble shrug to line her shoulders. He must have sensed the shift in her mood, turning slightly in his chair as he concentrated on her expression.

Looking worn out by the bags beneath her eyes, he could visibly see that any talk about Derek Hale always put her on edge. “I think we should have that talk now.” He said, referring to their earlier conversation surrounding the Alpha.

She shook her head. “Absolutely not.” She chided. “I’m tired.”

Reclining her seat, Riley leaned back and shut her eyes. A few moments seemed to pass, hearing the crinkle of a wrapper as Stiles fumbled around with it carefully. “I wonder if this really smells like bacon?” He wondered, ripping the plastic wrap apart to the air freshener he’d impulsively bought at the gas station.

The cab of the Jeep was cloaked in a dense and foul odor of stale meat. How they'd made the fragrance so exact, Riley couldn’t fathom. “Stiles!” She groaned, using the collar of her sweater to cover her nose as she rolled onto her side, facing the window, to escape the offensive smell.

###

###

_She found herself centered on the lacrosse field, her bare feet curling against the blades of grass that tickled her skin. It was slick with an early morning dew, the field coated in a dense, gray haze. Without much thought, Riley ghosted forward, her eyes scanning the empty bleachers to her right with unease. A swell of isolation crept down her throat, feeling a panic begin to settle from the vacancy surrounding her._

_Hating how it made her feel, Riley turned back to travel the way she’d come, only to find that someone now blocked her way. Only a mere ten feet away was a monster, crouched onto all fours as it peered at her with hateful, slitted eyes. The scaled texture of its skin was recognizable as the length of it’s tail whipped back and forth slowly._

_But despite it’s menacing gaze, she did not feel threatened. She did not run. She did not scream. Riley stood bravely before it with a clenched jaw, knowing that if it had truly wanted to hurt her, it would have already. With unsteady legs, she locked her knees and took a step toward the Kanima, deciding that it she rather face her fear head on than run from it._

_And as she walked towards it, the creature rose onto it’s hind legs to greet her._

_Standing eye to eye with this monster did not scare her, and as she studied the bright yellow undertones of it’s eyes, she concluded that it was scared. As an act of comfort, her had rose out to touch it, only for the Kanima to raise it’s hand in return. Their palms met, a swell of ease flooding from the creature as a sense of partnership ignited between them._

_As Riley’s eyes left the monsters and traveled to their intertwined hands, she could clearly see that the hands in which she’d risen did not belong to her. They were much too burly, too callous and strong. They were far from her dainty wrists and softly curved knuckles. At this realization, she felt a fire collect in her palm, yanking her hand away harshly._

Waking with a start as three small raps against the glass sounded, Riley sat up within her reclined seat stiffly, the gray morning casting a gloomy haze outside the windshield. Riley looked over her shoulder, seeing Stiles stir awake as Scott McCall idled on the other side, his knuckles tapping gently against the glass. Hugging her hoodie closer to her frame, Riley exited the passenger side seat of the Jeep before rounding the front of the hood to approach Scott. “What time is it?” She asked with a yawn, her bones aching from her wrestle with sleep.

He looked refreshed, his tan skin a brilliant contrast to his white hoodie. “Almost seven.” He murmured, taking a step back as Stiles propped open the drivers side door to greet his friends. “How’d it go last night?” He asked, shifting his eyes back to the van that still remained eerily silent.

“Fine.” Riley rubbed at her eyes. “Stiles touched Jackson’s junk.”

“I did not!” He bellowed defensively. “It touched me— _Oh, my God!_ It sounds bad either way.”

Scott held his enclosed fist to his lips to keep his amusement at bay. Envisioning his best friend trying to ward off the memory of the night before seemed to lighten the very dense and looming cloud of suspense that seemed to cling to all three of them this morning. Maybe it had more to do with what they'd seen happen last night, or perhaps, that they ended that fiasco with kidnapping a homicidal lizard.

“Stilinski!” A sudden howl tore through the early morning skyline. _“McCall!”_ Their eyes tore away from each other as they landed on the transportation van a few dozen feet away. “I’m going to kill both of you!” The voice from within snarled, having woken up chained to the interior of the van, Jackson’s anger seemed to override his confusion.

Stunned by the echoing silence that followed Jackson’s threat, Scott scratched the nape of his neck nervously. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He blurted out suddenly, pacing back to the tree line where he’d left his bike. “I can’t be late for school!” He tried to justify, but both Riley and Stiles knew it was his way of excusing himself from Jackson’s wrath.

They watched as he pedaled off into the woods, heading for school with feigned enthusiasm.

“A werewolf afraid of a Kanima,” Riley hummed to herself, her arms crossed against her chest to keep herself warm. She ended her statement with a slight snort.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Not just any Kanima,” he enthused, _“Jackson.”_

Riley agreed silently then, knowing just how intimidating the jock could be on his own, but throw in his murdering and rampant alter ego, and it seemed like a recipe for disaster. But in Jackson’s defense, although Riley would never justify any of his doings, he had no idea that he even could shapeshift. For the past few months after Derek had given him the bite, everyone had assumed that Jackson had formed some kind of strange immunity to it.

He hadn’t turned into a werewolf, so everyone suspected the bite hadn’t worked. But it was something that Derek had said once that repeated over and over again inside her head. _‘Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are’._ Did that mean Jackson was cold—blooded? A snake? Riley still couldn’t quite fathom the idea behind it, but she was sure that his tirade wouldn’t bring forth any consequences.

It was Stiles who broke the silence first, reaching into the backseat of his Jeep for the duffel bag before nervously heading towards the van. If Jackson was as pissed as he’d sounded, of course Stiles would try to bribe him with snacks before breaking the news that he was a murderer.

Riley followed behind with stiff legs and tired eyes, keeping a safe distance as Stiles slowly opened the backdoors to the van. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected once the doors were open, but a part of her had envisioned that the Kanima would be there to greet them, talons sprung and tail swaying. But it was the tamer side of Jackson, the human side that sat upon the metal bench, his hands bound in cuffs and his face contorted in anger.

His nostrils were flaring as Riley followed Stiles inside, shutting the door behind her so that the chilly morning air would not filter in behind them. They sat across from him on the opposite bench as Riley soaked in his disarray of hair and bare chest. At least he was wearing pants now. And as she settled in across from Jackson, she was so sure she could feel the metal beneath her feet quake from how hard Jackson was seething.

Stiles held up a reassuring hand, “We know you’re mad.“

“Get me the hell out of here!” Jackson snarled over him. “Or I swear to fucking—“

 _“Hey!”_ Riley huffed, speaking over him without any tolerance for his demands. Her tone shut him up momentarily, but his eyes only seemed to narrow in her direction. “We don’t like this anymore than you do, okay?” It was her attempt at easing them into the topic of which they’d need to discuss sooner or later. “But you’re here for your own safety.”

Jackson’s brow quirked, his upper lip curling in frustration as he yanked against the cuffs harshly. They clanked against the metal, ringing in their ears as if to drown out the hostility spilling between them. “My safety?” He growled, his skin flushed from the anger radiating through him. “How about you get me the fuck out of here before I kill both of you!”

The seriousness within his voice and threat idling in his eyes assured both Riley and Stiles that he wasn't kidding. How ironic was it to keep him hostage for not only his safety, but theirs? Because his murderous actions had landed him here, and here he was throwing around the word ‘kill’ as if it weren’t the truth. Both she and Stiles shared an uneasy look, shuffling a tad bit further from Jackson as if to distance themselves from the hate spewing from his mouth.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” Stiles asked warily.

Jackson was doubled over, his shoulders rising with each heavy breath that expanded his lungs. He kept his head down, his elbows balanced on his knees as he sighed. He wanted to give them an answer, but he found that as much as he raked his brain for the truth, he couldn’t find it. As if his memory lived behind a lock and key, it was as if the memory of last night did not exist at all. He kept his mouth shut finally and his head down low.

“We were at Scott’s house,” Riley murmured evenly, trying to guide him back to the beginning of their chaotic night. _“Remember?”_ Jackson hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly.

“We—“ He stuttered, “We were trying to protect Lydia.”

Riley nodded, though Jackson did not see. This topic was sensitive, and as much as she may have disliked him, she knew she needed to ease him into the truth. “Do you remember why?”

He was quite for a moment as he tried to locate the answer, surfing through the memories in his head before coming to a conclusion. He sat up straighter then, his sharpened jaw was squared as he ground his teeth together. “Because she’s the Kanima.”

He was so mistaken that Riley opened her mouth as if she were going to blurt out just how wrong he was, but promptly pressed her lips together when Stiles piped up first. The freckle—faced teen was perched on the edge of his seat, his eyes insistently splayed on Jackson. “It’s not Lydia.” Stiles confirmed.

Jackson digested that truth with a thick gulp. He couldn’t remember what had happened to Lydia last night, and after a second of guessing, he questioned why he even cared in the first place. He remembered her being tested in Chemistry yesterday. Having digested the Kanima venom without so much as a physical reaction.

 _‘She hadn’t passed Derek’s test’_ , Jackson thought, _’But I did’._

He remembered the paralyzing factor of the test once Derek had forced him to swallow the venom. How it locked his muscles into place and how he swore his heart would break right through his ribs from how scared he was. But he’d never admit that to anyone, if even himself.

“It’s you, Jackson.” Riley murmured in a soft voice. He met her gaze with hooded eyes, clenching his jaw so tight that he was sure his teeth would crack. “You’re the one killing people.”

He remembered hearing about the deaths on the news. How a hunter had been savagely torn apart and a mechanic had been purposefully decapitated by a car lift. He glanced at his hands, unraveling them from their tightly formed fists. For a moment, he could envision them stained red, dripping with blood, before he shook the idea from his head. _“Me?”_ He finally questioned, unable to truly wrap his head around anything spilling from their mouths. “You think I’m the one killing people?”

Stiles nodded. “We know you’re the one killing people.” He corrected. “And until we can figure out a way to stop your serial killing ass from slaughtering more people, we’re keeping you here for your own safety.” Riley nudged him harshly, eyeing him down as if to silently say that his choice of words were a bit insensitive.

But Jackson didn’t seem to be hung up on what Stiles had to say. “You really think my parents won’t come looking for me?” He pressed. “My father is a well—respected lawyer,” he argued, “he’ll prosecute your asses all the way to jail when he finds out what you did to me!”

His temper was back again, as if he hadn’t truly accepted why he was here in the first place. “And what about you?” Riley spoke up then defensively. “What will your father do when he finds out you murdered innocent people?”

Her question took him off guard, silencing his argument as he curled his hands back into fists. “We’re trying to protect you.” Stiles hummed. “Okay? And hey—,” he huffed again, “just be thankful we stopped you from killing somebody else last night.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” Jackson tried to justify, shaking his head as if to dismiss their case against him being the Kanima. “But I am thinking about killing you two if you don’t let me go.”

Riley could visibly see that this discussion would not get through to him this way. Their attempt at easing him into the truth was not going to work. She needed a new plan, a new way of making him believe. “You already tried.” She looked to Jackson firmly. “You tried killing us the night of the lacrosse game.” His interest seemed to peak, his body stiffening at her words as if he dared her to elaborate. “You trapped Stiles, Derek and I in the school’s pool for two hours. I—“she stopped abruptly, breathing unevenly before continuing, “—I almost drowned.”

Stiles sat uneasily beside her, remembering having to revive her after it was his fault for letting them go. “And you paralyzed Derek.” Stiles muttered.

“I paralyzed him?” Jackson asked warily.

The two of them nodded in unison. “This toxic serum literally drips from your claws.” Stiles demonstrated with spastic movements. “One swipe,” he breathed, “and you render your victim completely helpless.” Stiles could see it in the slant of Jackson’s eyes that he didn’t truly believe them. Even after all the evidence splayed out before him, he chose not to see the truth for what it really was. “You have to believe us.” Stiles pressed. “C’mon, dude!” He argued. “You have claws, daggered teeth, scales—“

 _“Scales?”_ Jackson questioned with an uninterested expression.

“Like a fish.” Riley confirmed.

Stiles piped in from beside her, “Actually,” he murmured, “it’s more like a reptile.” To which Riley nodded in agreement. “Oh!” The spastic kid huffed again. “And you have a tail!”

 _“A tail?”_ This sounded more and more ridiculous to Jackson the more they spoke. “Does it do anything?” He questioned.

His anger infused glare landed on Riley, who shuffled for an explanation before shrugging. “I don’t think so?”

He nodded at her words. _“Hm.”_ He hummed indifferently before suddenly yanking against the cuffs tethering him to the van in one swift movement. “Can I use it to strangle you?” His voice was high pitched and hoarse as he yelled, causing Riley to shift another inch back from his anger induced tantrum.

“You don’t believe us,” Stiles spoke, “and that’s fine, but tell me this,” He leaned forward as he looked into Jackson’s eyes carefully. “Where were you the night of the semi—finals?” He questioned, the night the Kanima had trapped them in the pool.

He scanned his memory for a moment, clenching his teeth tighter when it came back blank. “I went home.” He lied once he could not come up with another excuse.

“You sure?” Riley asked, her tone suggesting she knew he was lying.

“Yes you fucking idiot.” He growled. “Where else would I have gone?”

“And what about last night?” She continued. “Where did you go after you left Scott’s?”

Jackson hesitated, his mind blank. “I—I went home.” He lied again.

“What about the night of the full moon?” Stiles demanded. “What happened?”

A lodge was formed in Jackson’s throat, his palms sweating as he thought back to a week or two prior. His mind was blank, unable to remember his whereabouts to any of the events they probed him for answers about. And despite the heavy truth, he would not allow their accusations to hold any weight over him. _“Nothing.”_ He stammered breathlessly. “Nothing happened.”


	20. Candid

Riley sat across from Stiles at the same diner she’d ate at with Derek a few weeks prior. It was busy now as it rounded toward dinner time, watching as the waitress maneuvered from table to table with a frenzied expression. Allowing her eyes to drift to the exact booth just across from theirs, she remembered sitting down to have a very normalized discussion with the Alpha. It was the first time they’d spoken freely, without feeling pressured to fill the gap of silence that always seemed to follow them. An elderly couple sat there now, splitting a banana split in tender silence. She tore her gaze away when Stiles snapped his fingers in front of her face, gaining her attention before she could grab a sip of water to cleanse her dry palette. “You okay?” He asked. “You seem a little out of it.”

She nodded once, swallowing nervously as she kept her fidgeting hands below the table. “I’m just tired.” She mentioned, hoping he’d take it as a valid excuse and move on. But Stiles wasn’t satisfied with that answer, she could see it on the curious curve of features that he was prying for more. He knew people were never ‘just tired’ . . . There was always something more.

Overly aware of that fact, he absorbed the memory of how dense the bags beneath her eyes looked. How heavy they must have felt to carry, like the weight of the world. Riley was carrying something with her that was much more difficult to shoulder than she let on. And as Stiles stared her down, she felt this unbearable need to fill the silence. Speaking word vomit just to escape it’s neglectful echo.

“I had another nightmare last night.” She exclaimed with a calm shrug. “I—I never really had them until my mom died.” Riley scratched the back of her head nervously, keeping her eyes strained on the glass of water situated before her on the table. “I mean they’re not just nightmare’s I guess . . . “ She continued, unsure of where she should draw the line on spilling too much information. “They always seem so real.”

Stiles seemed to soften his expression, leaning back against the booth as he listened intently. “Are they all the same?” He wondered.

Shaking her head, she took a lungful of air before explaining. “The first one I had was about Peter.” She whispered before clearing her throat. “In his Alpha form and then a few weeks later I—I saw him and it was like deja vú.” She could physically hear just how insane she must have sounded, but her word vomit would not halt. “And then I saw Derek with glowing red eyes and . . . and then a few days later he became the Alpha.”

Perplexed by her candor, Stiles couldn’t help but think about how odd that seemed. How she’d seen these things happen long before they had ever truly occurred. “And then I had one where I was being hunted by three wolves with yellow eyes and . . .” Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Riley couldn’t believe she was confessing these things to someone out loud. “That was around the time Derek had started turning his Beta’s.”

“Three glowing eyes.” Stiles murmured lowly. “Three Beta’s.”

And still, despite the confusion laced in his stare, Riley felt compelled to continue. “And then I dreamt about the Kanima and a week later was when I saw it for the first time when it trapped us in the pool. And last night,” she huffed, “last night in my dream I— _I felt connected to it_.”

“Connected to it how?” Stiles reached for an explanation.

She seemed visibly shaken now as the waitress dropped off their food. His greedy hands reached for a grip of fries as Riley left her food untouched. “We were standing face to face.” She remembered. “Hand to hand and it made me think about how the Bestiary says ‘the Kanima seeks a friend’.”

“I don’t think Jackson want’s us to be his friends.” Stiles mouthed around a bite of his burger.

Riley silently agreed, but it still left her shaken. “Maybe not Jackson,” she mentioned, “but the Kanima?”

It was then that she finally picked up her fork, stabbing it into her plate of pancakes with a tad bit of aggression. “Do you not remember how it tried to kill us?” He hissed in surprise, unable to understand how she was seemingly able to sympathize with the Kanima.

Her posture straighten as she swallowed her food, nodding her head as a reminder that she’d never be able to truly forget. “You said you read somewhere that the Kanima only kills murderers, right?”

He nodded, “Exactly! I don’t know about you, but I haven’t killed anyone recently.”

“Think about it,” she seemed to gather, “It didn’t go after Allison. It didn’t come after you at the mechanic shop—“

“But it did at the pool! It would have killed us if we had gotten out.” He explained timidly.

 _“Maybe.”_ Riley agreed, though her expression assured him she was somehow rethinking. “Or maybe it was trying to keep us in.”

Stiles let his features fall, his brows furrowing in surprise. “Why do I all of a sudden feel violated?”

Riley’s fork dropped then as she sat back against the booth. “I don’t know.” She said. “But I just have this feeling after talking to Jackson today. I don’t think he’s lying about not knowing the truth.”

“Unless somebody is controlling him.” Stiles hummed around another bite of his food. He didn’t say it to intentionally stir up trouble, but thats exactly what Riley felt the moment the words left his lips. Her stomach seemed to flip, as if it was turning itself inside out at just the thought. The feeling she felt, the sense of dread, it felt heavier now. _Darker._ As if Stiles was somehow onto something.

The sickness that consumed Riley made her lose her appetite. “Can we talk about something else?” She breathed, trying to control the tremor that threatened to spill from her spine. “Like Danny? Scott said he was going to make a full recovery.”

It seemed like a swell of relief gathered over her as the topic of their conversation switched. They’d spoken to Scott in passing once the Werewolf had taken watch over Jackson to give them a much needed break. He relayed how he’d gone to see Danny earlier that afternoon, and how the teen had seemed oblivious as to what had actually happened the night before. “Danny told Scott he’d been restoring some missing footage for a video that Jackson had made.” Stiles recollected. “It was on a tablet in his car at the nightclub.”

“Which Scott said someone broke into and stole.” Riley finished for him, deep in thought. “It couldn’t have been Jackson that stole the tablet, he was with us all night.” She watched stiles finish the last bite of his burger before she pushed her plate of left over pancakes his way. He did not hesitate to finish that either. “What would be so important on the restored footage that someone would steal it?”

Stiles added an extra helping of syrup to the plate before mentioning, “Maybe someone else know’s he’s the Kanima?”

“Maybe someone’s trying to protect him.” She breathed, taking another sip of water to let it wash out the bad taste those words left in her mouth. “There’s something else going on.” She spoke. “Something much bigger than we think.”

He didn’t disagree, but the idea of it somehow surpassed his appetite too. There had been something so genuine and vulnerable beneath Jackson’s outrage this morning, something that assured them his truth was the only one he knew. He hadn’t known about the killings or the people he’d hurt. He’d lost track of all the time he’d spent as the Kanima, as if it hadn’t even phased him. But in his eyes, Riley had seen some form of fear. He was scared of what he was. He was afraid of the truth behind the actions he’d mindlessly inflicted.

He was just as much a victim as he was a villain.

Riley’s phone buzzed then, her screen igniting as an incoming text idled for her to read. She hadn’t read the message, but the name of the person who’d sent it was displayed in bold, black letters. Stiles must have seen it too before Riley had placed her phone within her lap, because he brought it up almost immediately. “What’s Derek want?” His tone almost felt accusatory, as if he were filled with a jealous rage he couldn’t explain.

Riley kept her gaze down, reading the message to herself as he’d asked her how she was doing after the night before. “He’s just checking up on us.” Riley shrugged, ignoring the text in fear that Stiles would question her response. “He’s wondering how Jackson’s doing.” She lied fluently.

“Since when does he care?” He snarled, rolling his eyes as if he could spot Riley’s lie from a mile away. “He was so gung—ho about killing Lydia yesterday, and what, now he’s all worried about Jackson?” He didn’t believe it in the slightest, but Riley felt an urge to defend him.

Her tone remained calming, her expression soft. “I think you misunderstand him sometimes.”

Stiles laughed. “Mis— _misunderstand_ him?” His whiskey eyes widened. “He literally said _‘I can’t let Lydia live’._ ”

“He thought she was the one killing people.” Riley reminded.

“And now he know’s it’s Jackson.” Stiles hinted. “So where’s his apology to Lydia?”

Riley bit her lip, her jaw hardening because they both knew she’d never get one. “As wrong as he was,” Riley bridged the topic carefully, “He was just doing what he thought was right.” She could see that Stiles was going to argue, but she held up her hand so he’d let her continue. “Before his family died,” she relayed, “his parents use to be the protectors of Beacon Hills. When things like this happened, they’d be the one’s handling it and . . . He feels like he has to live up them.” She knew his confession was not hers to exploit, but she hoped she could trust Stiles with the information she’d learned. “Like he has to make his parents proud.”

His nimble fingers were drumming against the table top, trying to wrap his head around the information before he decided it didn’t matter. “So, just because his family died,” Stiles spewed, “he’s allowed to go around murdering innocent sixteen year old girls?” He shook his head, folding his lean arms across his chest. “I lost my mom,” Stiles huffed, “and I’m not a psychopath like him.”

Riley could feel the anger begin to flood Stiles’ tone, hating how judgmental he could be sometimes. “I lost mine too.” Riley commented, not having spoken about it until now. “I understand how it feels to want to be something you’re not.” She clarified. “He’s not psychotic.” She concluded. “And he’s not a murderer.” They sat in silence for a moment, both feeling the burn from their heated argument before she spoke again. “He puts up this act,” she finally said, “because he wants people to be afraid of him, because he thinks it’s easier to be hated than to let anyone in. You think he would have killed Lydia,” Riley accused, “but I know, if it truly came down to it, he wouldn’t have been able to.”

His lips pursed as he thought it through, knowing he’d never known Derek the way Riley seemed to. “So, what you’re saying is,” he knit his brows together for clarification, “is that Derek’s really just a big softie?”

Riley snorted. “Don’t tell him I told you.”

And Stiles could see it now, in the glow of her cheeks, that there was something about Derek Hale that no one else could see but her. How she’d found it buried deep within the depths of his stone cloaked soul was beyond him, but he figured if he could trust anyone’s opinion, it could be hers. If someone as tender—headed and kind as Riley Haven could even see the light in the darkness that was Derek, then Stiles knew that he could too.

At the end of their meal, it was Riley who threw down a twenty without asking for change from the frantic waitress. Both she and Stiles headed back for the Jeep, playfully shoving each other like two normal best friends would, despite the lack of normalcy within their lives. With their stomachs full, they reached the Jeep with the intentions of heading back to Look Out Point and babysitting Jackson through another school day. That was until Stiles’ phone rang within his pocket, an incoming call from Scott.

He placed him on speaker once they settled into the cab of his car. “Hey, what’s up—“

 _“He’s gone!”_ Scott bellowed from the other line. “Jackson’s gone!” The numbness that tingled within Riley’s face as her blood ran cold left her limbs locked. She looked to Stiles expectantly, her wide eyes painfully alert. “He busted through the back doors and took off!”

“Jackson?” Riley questioned. “Or the Kanima?”

 _“The Kanima.”_ Scott huffed uneasily. “Which means he could be out looking for another person to murder!”

Despite the chaotic nature of this moment, Stiles seemed to be the voice of reason as he eased Scott’s panic with a calming voice. “We’ll find him, okay? We just—we just might need a little help is all.”

“From Derek?” Riley asked, prepared to call him if needed, but Stiles shook his head.

He held the receiver closer to his trembling lips. “Meet us at the station.” He instructed Scott. _“We’re going to tell my dad.”_

###

###

A heavy conscious seemed to flood Riley’s senses. So incredibly on edge as she walked along Stiles at a brisk pace towards the Sheriff’s station. Scott was idling outside, an expression tailored to match his curious mindset. If Jackson had escaped as the Kanima, that could have meant his streak of terror was only just beginning. And she felt responsible this time around, because they’d had Jackson in the cusp of their hands, only for him to break away when they weren’t looking.

Whoever he killed next, their deaths would be on their hands.

Fully expecting to head into John’s office and tell him the truth about the Kanima, she was surprised when Scott reached out to grab her wrist. It was a tender way of stopping her, his brows knitted together in absolute concern. “Is it Jackson?” She asked instinctively, as if Scott had perhaps already found him . . . or worse, his next victim.

But the werewolf shook his head, looking between Riley and Stiles as he searched for the right words to explain. “Allison just called me.’ He stated then. “Lydia was able to translate the Bestiary.”

“Lydia know’s Latin?” Stiles contested with surprised eyes.

Scott nodded, but he did not share the same enthusiasm as his friend. “Arcaic and Classic, apparently.” He murmured, clearing his throat as he looked toward the entrance of the doors to the Sheriff’s station. “Ms. Morell had it wrong,” Scott sighed, “The Kanima doesn’t seek a friend.” He paused for a moment, feeling his palms begin to sweat at just the mere thought. “It seeks a master.”

It was silent between the three of them as Stiles’ shoulder gently brushed against Riley’s. It was a touch that signified this news had matched their earlier theories. His whiskey colored eyes found hers, soft and unsure as he whispered, “Like in your dream.”

 _It had made sense now_ , Riley mindfully added to herself, as to why the Kanima had searched for someone with who it could connect to. “Dream?” Scott asked nervously, as if he hadn’t decided he’d wanted to know or not.

But Riley disregarded his question, feeling her skin pucker with a nervous chill as she opened her mouth to speak. “If Jackson can’t even remember he’s the Kanima, I doubt he’ll remember that he’s even being controlled.”

“But by who?” Scott wondered.

Riley pulled her wrist from his grasp then, taking a step back to collect her thoughts. They seemed to run now at a million miles an hour, trying to piece together the holes that still flawed their theories. Her feet broke forward then, heading for the entrance of the station with a determined look. She could hear the boys following closely behind, their silence a dead giveaway of their fear.

“Are we still going to tell my dad?” Stiles asked quickly, fumbling over his feet as they entered the warm lobby of the station.

But Riley nodded her head, looking over her shoulder once they bypassed the front desk. “We can’t do this all on our own.” She murmured defensively. “We’re just kids.”

“So we’re going to tell him everything?” Scott tried to confirm with an uneven tone. He wasn’t sure John Stilinski would even believe them, despite their proof that monsters were real. How could he prepare the truth when he couldn’t wrap it up in a nice red bow beforehand?

But Riley was certain John would understand. Surely, being the Sheriff in Beacon Hills for the last four years, he’d seen some unexplainable things. Perhaps knowing the truth could solve the mound of unsolved crimes plaguing the town. He had to know that not all of these deaths were animal attacks. “They’d be able to handle Jackson.” She stated, following Stiles’ lead as they headed for his fathers office. “Maybe they can find out whose masterminding his killing spree

Stiles nervously agreed, thinking to himself, that having his father know did not seem like the very best idea. But he opened the office door without even knocking, surprised to see an older gentleman arguing with his dad. The three of them stopped in the doorway once John’s eyes fell on them. The office fell into a tense silence, one they knew they wouldn’t escape from easily. “Perfect timing,” John muttered as he waived Riley, Stiles and Scott forward. “You have some explaining to do.”

It was then that the gentleman John had been arguing with shifted, able to now see that a teenager was seated in the chair behind him. And by the recognizable smirk on his chiseled cheeks, they could already tell it was Jackson Whittemore and his lawyered father.

John instructed the three of them to sit across from Jackson and his dad. Going to the police was the last thing Riley had expected from a fully shifted and rampant Kanima, but Jackson had warned them that his father would press charges, and that’s exactly how all of this had planned out. “Sorry I’m late!” Another voice filtered through as the door to the office sprung open, it was Scott’s mother, Melissa, out of breath and still dressed in her Hospital scrubs.

She must have just finished her shift, looking to her son with accusing eyes as she took a seat beside John. “Now that we have your parents present,” Mr. Whittemore explained, standing up with a clipboard tucked under his arm, “Melissa McCall in leu of Scott, John Stilinski in leu of Stiles and—“ He paused for a moment, his eyes shooting stiffly to Riley Haven, who remained unrepresented by any guardian. Mr. Whittemore flipped through his clipboard for a second, reading over the fine print before continuing, “Ms. Haven, you are of consenting age to withstand a court order,” He paused for another moment, glaring at the girl who was two years older than his son, “which means you could face a misdemeanor—“

“That isn’t necessary.” John spoke up, interjecting the lawyers idea that perhaps she deserved a stronger charge.

“These kids kidnapped my son.” Mr. Whittemore declared, his three-piece suit tailored to him fittingly. “You’re all lucky we aren’t pressing charges!” His voice rose, as if he was trying to explain that how he tried the kids would be doing their parents a favor. No lengthy court dates, no fines, no jail time or record of their crime. “All we’re asking is for a restraining order.”

Riley, Scott and Stiles shared a simple exchange. It was one that confirmed that their inability to protect Jackson from himself or anyone else, wouldn’t be so easy now. “You are not to come within fifty feet of my son.” Mr. Whittemore challenged. Riley studied his features then, ignoring that fact that the vein within his forehead pulsed as if it were going to explode.

He was a good looking man, but his dark, brown hair did not compare to Jackson’s blonde locks. Their facial structure was not the same. They did not carry the same rage—filled glare within their eyes. Perhaps Jackson was more like his mother, finding it difficult to compare their similarities while Mr. Whittemore's face was flushed a searing red. “What about school?” Scott spoke up, his tone polite and unsure.

They shared classes together, this restraining order would certainly effect their education.

“You can carry on with your classes,” John Stilinski acknowledged, “while maintaining a fifty—foot radius.”

Riley remained silent, knowing that if she opened her mouth, perhaps Mr. Whittemore might find it in his heart to add to their sentencing. But Stiles, whose word vomit and social anxiety controlled his voice, opened his mouth with what he deemed a seemingly innocent question. “Say I have to use the bathroom and Jackson is already in there, and the only open stall is right next to each other—“ He stopped abruptly when Mr. Whittemore narrowed his piercing brown eyes at him, “—I’ll hold it.” He nodded firmly.

###

###

The next day at school brought forth an inconceivable amount of pressure to not only stay as far away from Jackson as humanly possible, but also keep tabs on where he was at all times. Having the need to know where he was and why helped keep RIley’s anxiety attacks at bay. Now that they knew he was the Kanima, and that he’d murdered three people, she felt obligated to ensure it didn’t happen again. 

That was, of course, unless he wasn’t telling the truth. But she’d seen the vulnerability within his eyes. Riley had seen just how shaken he’d been when they tried to deliver him the news. For the first time since moving here, she truly felt empathetic towards him. A feeling she never had thought was possible, but perhaps her compassion ran deeper than she thought. And even as she stood with Scott and Stiles in the corner of the library, she knew that the jock was using his free period to lift weights in the locker room. Keeping tabs on him was harder from a distance, but she’d do it if meant he couldn’t tear his claws into someone else.

Allison rounded the corner then, joining them in the deepest corner of the library where the security cameras could not reach. It was the safest place for them to speak freely, knowing that her father had made it clear she couldn’t have any direct contact with Scott. “Did you bring it?” Stiles asked, grabbing a folder from the Argent’s hands as she handed it over.

“Lydia translated it all this morning.” She relayed breathlessly before brushing a stray lock of hair back into her immaculately twisted bun. Riley peaked over Stiles shoulder as both he and Scott skimmed through the printed notes of the red—heads findings.

Riley couldn’t imagine the elaborate story Allison had to of made up so Lydia wouldn’t ask any questions resulting in the truth. “How confused was she?” Scott piped up before she could, his brown eyes tender and thankful,

Allison’s eyes shifted nervously, hoping no passerby’s would hear their conversation. _“Very.”_ She said after a second. “I told her that I was part of an online gaming community that battles mythical monsters.” Snorting at her cover story, Riley promptly pressed her lips into a thin line once Stiles mentioned he _was_ part of an online gaming community that battled mythical monsters. Uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation, Allison hesitantly added, “The Bestiary calls the Kanima a weapon of vengeance,” she murmured lowly after a thick gulp. “There’s this story that Lydia translated about a South American priest who used the Kanima to execute murderers.”

 _“Huh.”_ Riley huffed, mostly to herself. “So, the Kanima _does_ only kills murderers?” She clarified.

Allison’s expression pursed, as if she was caught in a lie. “That’s how it started out.” She confirmed bluntly. “Until the bond between the Kanima and the priest became so strong, that it began to murder anyone he’d want it to.”

Riley’s eyes shut instinctively then, breathing deeply as she tried to absorb all of the information. Of all the people who could be controlling Jackson, why would they want a hunter and a mechanic dead? Riley couldn’t fathom the answer. “And the Kanima,” Allison continued, spewing out the information she’d read in her first hour class, “is suppose to be a werewolf, but it can’t be until it resolves that in it’s past which manifested it.”

Scott stopped flipping through the pages then, looking to Allison with misunderstanding. “Something in his past?” He wondered vaguely. “Like an incident or traumatic experience?”

Stiles nudge Scott with a harsh jut of his elbow. “What about his parents?” He questioned. “His _real_ parents?”

Riley’s brows puckered at that statement. “Real parents?” She pressed. “He’s adopted?”

That was something she hadn’t quite known about Jackson, but perhaps it made sense. His need to overcompensate his low self esteem with being the best at everything, feeling like he was never good enough, and acting as if he’d never live up to his adoptive parent’s standards. They seemed like hard shoes to fill, but from an outsider, it looked like Jackson Whittemore had his whole life going for him.

“Does anyone actually know what happened to them?” Scott quipped. “His real parents?”

They sat in silence for a moment, adverting their eyes from the desperate stare of one another until Stiles spoke up. “Lydia might?” He added. “They dated for three years, he may have told her something that no one else knows?” Scott nodded, despite his uncertainty of the truth, he had a feeling Lydia was their best bet. If they had to help Jackson resolve his past in order for him to evolve into the werewolf he’d signed up to be, this seemed like the only step in the right direction. “I’ll see if Lydia knows anything.” Stiles said after a moment.

“And I’ll talk to Jackson.” Allison promised with a firm nod of her head. “I’m the only one he doesn’t have a restraining order on.”

It was Riley who managed to grab ahold of the translated Bestiary, keeping it firmly tucked away inside the crease of her arm as Allison and Stiles dispersed into their duties. “I’ll make copies of these.” She spoke to Scott, heading towards the copy machine at the front of the library. “I’ll meet you outside the locker room in ten.”

She waived him off then, swallowing the lump in her throat as she loaded up the copy machine with the ten, front and back, printed pages and dialed in for it to make five copies. One for each of them, and Derek, who she assumed would want one for future reference. She hadn’t ever replied back to his text from last night, hoping he hadn’t thought she was ignoring him. Everything had happened so suddenly, she hadn’t had time to breathe, let alone think about replying to him truthfully.

Her fingers drummed against the machine momentarily, debating what she would say until she pulled out her phone from her back pocket and pulled up their text thread. It had been the first time he’d ever reached out to her like that, usually having opted in for stopping by her apartment in the middle of the night if he’d truly needed to speak with her. But she read over his text again, asking how she’d been doing since the club incident a night prior.

Figuring it best to hide her nerves with sarcasm, she responded; _‘Awful. But I’m use to it’._

She hit send then, hoping her wit would make up for the fact that she felt extra terrified these past few days. It was easier to hide it over text, because he couldn’t sense the frustration emanating from her rapidly beating heart. Riley seemed to hold her breath once she noticed the three dots appear in green, an indication that Derek Hale had read her text and was currently writing out his reply.

She kept her phone in her hand, her eyes glued to the screen until he responded; _‘Same’._

A laugh bubbled from her chest, the echo of her chuckle drowned out by the sudden sound of something clicking. Her flushed features fell as she noticed a boy aiming an expensive camera in her direction. He lowered the camera from his eye—view when he noticed she’d seem him. The boy seemed embarrassed, shuffling from one foot to the other anxiously. “Sorry.” He muttered apologetically once Riley began to collect her papers from the copier with red cheeks. “I’m on the yearbook committee.” He stammered.

 _“Oh.”_ Was all she replied back with a tight—lipped grin, taken off guard by his candid photography session. Riley cleared her throat then and took the opportunity to escape his bashful stare. But the kid followed behind her, his strides quickly catching up to her as he walked along side her retreating form.

“I’m suppose to be taking candids of the students.” He defended himself in a kind tone. He raised his camera for her to see. “I can delete it if you want?”

Riley shook her head, trying to even out her complexion as she headed for the locker room. “No, uh,” she stuttered with an uncomfortable laugh, “it’s okay.”

Hoping her approval would ward of his incessant need to keep on her heels, she found that he still walked alongside her. His light brown hair was pushed back over his eyes, his fair skin seemingly translucent in comparison to his green flanneled shirt. “I’m Matt, by the way.” He introduced himself, holding out his slender palm for her to shake.

She did so with a soft palm, the corner of her lip turning upward gently to ensure he wouldn’t get the wrong impression. “I know.” She nodded, an awkward and tense cloud forming between them. “You sit behind me in AP English.” Though she’d never spoken a word to him until today.

He looked surprised, as if he had been so sure she had never noticed him before. Unlike most of the other students, Matt had glided through half of his sophomore year like a ghost. He found himself staring at her, but could not look away before he noticed her shift uncomfortably beneath his bright blue eyes. _“So—sorry.”_ He hummed almost unintelligibly. He looked away then as they continued walking, keeping his eyes strained on his hands as the fiddled with the camera laced around his neck. “Have you ever considered modeling?” He asked suddenly to breach the awkward tension hovering over them. “You have a great face for photography.”

Perhaps he hadn’t meant to come off so incredibly weird, but it didn’t mean Riley didn’t take it as so. Adverting her eyes, she allowed her hair to fall from behind her ear as if to create a curtain between her vulnerable eyes and his lurking stare. “Oh.” She muttered as they rounded the corner towards the mens locker room. “Thank you, but—uh, no.”

She said it in the kindest way possible, not wanting to come off as rude, regardless of Matt’s persistent nature. And despite the discomfort in Riley’s decline, he rambled on in a continuous effort to gain her agreement. “I’ve got this photography project coming up next week,” he spoke in a quick voice, “and I actually need someone to do a few poses for me. I think you’d be perfect—“

His voice was suddenly drowned out by the sound of the entrance door to the locker room being shoved open so hard, it cracked the door frame almost in half. Two teenagers spilled from the room and into the hallway at their feet. Their bodies were tangled, their hands curled into fists as they hurled them into the soft flesh of one another. Riley stumbled back once she noticed who it was taking the beating, watching as Scott McCall jabbed fist after fist into Jackson’s jaw.

It was Stiles who pried him off, holding back his best friend while Erica Reyes pinned Jackson down to keep him from going after the werewolf once more. “Enough!” A booming voice echoed, watching as Coach Finstock sprinted from his office from the opposite end of the hall. “Get the hell out of here, McCall!” He sneered, waiving his hand as a signal for the kid to take a breather. “Detention! Both of you!” Coach Finstock’s wide eyes narrowed at the kids directly involved before shuffling to Stiles, Allison, Riley, Erica and Matt. “In fact,” He huffed, “all of you!”

###

###

Up until now, Riley Haven had made it to her Junior year of High School without getting in trouble. Nothing as much as a write up, and here she was, heading to the library as she took her time weaving between the students heading home for the day. The bright side was that she wouldn’t be alone, linking up beside Scott and Stiles as they breached the entrance to the nearly vacant lobby of the library.

Mr. Harris stood near a cluster of desks, the chaperone to this afternoon’s detention. Jackson, Allison and Matt were already seated at one table, lazily settling in for presumably the most boring two hours of their lives. Riley took a seat at the opposite table, pulling out a chair beside Erica as she shot the blonde werewolf a soft smile.

The library was silent, clearing her throat just the slightest seemed to carry noise as Matt glanced at her from the table next door. She kept her eyes off him, deciding to glance to Scott instead as everyone else fell into a silent trance. “What happened earlier?” She whispered to him, gaining his attention as she nudged his foot with her own.

Scott’s brows were angled downward, his eyes narrowed at the Kanima across from them. “Allison went to talk to Jackson,” he reminded, to which Riley nodded, “she said he wasn’t acting like himself,” he muttered, “he hurt her.” He snarled quietly, his dark eyes vengeful. “So I hurt him.”

“I’m sure his father will be thrilled.” Riley rolled her eyes, drumming her fingers against the tabletop. “Did you get any answers from Lydia?” She turned her question on Stiles.

He shook his cropped hair, his lips pulling down at the corners as he tilted his chin at Erica. “Never got the chance,” he hissed lowly, “because somebody decided to get nosey!”

Riley looked to the blonde then, never having questioned Erica’s involvement in todays incident until now. The brown eyed beauty simply shrugged, tapping her pen against the keyboard of her laptop as she sneered back at him. “Why are you guys so interested in Jackson’s parents?” She wondered, keeping her voice low so the table across from them would not hear. “They’re dead anyway.”

Shifting her gaze from Erica to Jackson, she felt her teeth graze her lip in sympathy. Of course being adopted wasn’t enough, try adding being an orphan to the mix. Glancing back to the werewolf, Erica wore an expression that ensured she knew more than she was willing to spill. “Talk.” Riley urged, leaning forward on her elbows as the boys shifted closer.

“It was a car accident.” Erica mentioned. “My dad was the insurance investigator.” She paused for a second as she stared at her fiddling hands. “Every time he sees Jackson drive by in his Porsche, he makes the same comment about this huge settlement he’ll get when he’s eighteen.”

Stiles mouth popped open at that. “Not only is he rich now,” the freckle—faced teen huffed, “but he’s going to get even richer?”

Erica nodded once, firm and slow as if she understood just how unfair that seemed. Pausing for a moment, she hesitated before her fingers suddenly began to glide over her keyboard. “I might be able to find the incident report in my dads inbox.”

She was silent for a moment, skimming through dozens of reports as Riley shifted her attention back at Jackson’s table. Allison wore a bored expression, her wrist bandaged from the fight that had broken out earlier. That must have been what caused Scott so much anger, knowing that Jackson was a loose canon and could hurt people at any moment. It was a risk to not keep tabs on him, knowing that he was merely a puppet to someone else who controlled the strings.

And Jackson himself nestled his head against his fist, his eyes closed as he tried to focus on things to pass the time. Lastly, Riley’s eyes shifted to Matt as he quietly tweaked with the controls on his fancy camera. He’d subsequently been pulled into this nightmare of a situation just by innocently by standing. “Found it.” Erica whispered to them after a few minutes of silence. _“The driver was ejected from the car when it flipped, and the passenger was taken to the hospital where it looks like they performed an emergency cesarian after being pronounced dead on June fourteenth, nineteen—ninety—five.”_

“Cesarian?” Stiles questioned with a tilted head.

Riley’s lips turned down, her shoulders shuddering tentatively from the chill weaving beneath her skin. “A c—section.” She informed him softly. “They pulled Jackson from the womb of his dead mother.”

She sat back stiffly, feeling a heat rise into her throat, choking on it as if it would slip from between her clenched teeth at any moment. Her eyes skimmed back toward the jock, wondering if he was aware just how lucky he was that he hadn’t died that same day as his parents. Was he even aware of how they’d passed? Or had he ignored the need to ever want to know the truth?

It was hard to tell with people like Jackson, because they hid their true feelings in a way that suggested they didn’t have any to begin with. He’d always been fueled with anger, always pointing his finger at someone else as if it somehow justified his own actions. Riley’s eyes tore away from him once Mr. Harris shuffled from his seat, smoothing down the front of his button down shirt before grabbing his briefcase.

The rest of them slowly followed his lead, beginning to pack up their belongings before Mr. Harris chuckled sarcastically. “Oh, no—Sorry.” He said, heading for the exit. “You must have all gotten the wrong impression.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder toward the door, his beady—eyes curved with excitement. “See, I’m leaving.” He assured. “But none of you are until you finish the re—shelving.”

He nodded his head to the rack of go backs piled with books. A unified groan slipped from their lips at the sight, begrudgingly placing their backpacks back beneath their desks as Mr. Harris clocked out for the evening. There had to of been over a hundred books, all needing to be alphabetized and sorted before they too, could call it a night.

Rising from their seats, the room caught in a tension filled silence, Riley stretched her hips before clearing her throat. They all gathered around the cart, “It’ll be faster if we split it all up evenly.” She mentioned, looping her arms around three text books and a few novels before passing them off to Jackson. He did not complain, though the look in his eyes suggested his disdain for her was rapidly beginning to grow.

The others did the same, grabbing an armful of books before setting off toward the appropriate aisle’s to be re—shelved. The weight of the geology text book in her arms made them ache, keeping a quick and even pace in hopes of finishing her share in enough time to ask Stiles for a ride home. But as she turned over her shoulder, she could see both he and Scott talking privately with one another, a sure sign that he hadn’t even started yet.

Skimming her thumb over the binding of a Jane Austen book, Riley rolled her eyes at the title, _‘Emma and the Vampires’_. Surely those kind of monsters couldn’t be real, but in a world filled with Werewolves and lizard—people, she wasn’t too quick to deny that anything could be possible. Just how many kinds of mythical beings existed? The lodge in her throat was a clear indication that Riley didn’t really want to find out.

Her mind was pulled from her exuberant thoughts as Allison rounded the corner of her aisle, a closed—mouth smile on her lips as she put her last book back on the shelf. “Are you okay?” Riley asked lowly, facing her own row as she tried to find the right place for her own stack of books in her arms. The Argent took a long, deep breath, rolling her shoulders before undecidedly nodding her head.

Scott hadn’t said much about what Jackson had done to Allison, but she figured it must have been bad, considering Scott drove his fist into the side of his head over and over again. That kind of reaction wasn’t something someone would expect from Scott. He’d always been soft spoken and kind, but his friends were always a touchy subject for him. Scott would never not stick up for the people he cared about.

That was the great thing about the niche Riley had found herself in. These people she called friends, they didn’t feel like just friends . . . They felt more like family. Something she didn’t have much of these days.

Once she’d found the right section for the book in her hand, she grabbed another from her pile and headed toward the end of the aisle. It was there that her legs seemed to lock into place, the books in her arms dropping to the floor at her feet. A hiss echoed through the library, familiar and lethal as a blurry form leaped from the top of the bookshelf to the other. It’s unmistakable scales glimmered beneath the florescent ceiling lights, the shelves quaking as books from the tops shelves toppled over.

Instinctively crouching down to the ground, Riley’s arms covered her head as a defensive growl, more feminine than not, snarled from three rows over. It was Erica. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure Allison’s safety, they shared a simple exchange of a stoic nod before rising to their feet. It was Riley that sprinted forward first, hearing the commotion of a Kanima brawling against two werewolves. The second row she passed, before reaching the one she knew Scott and Erica were, made her pause. It was a body splayed across the carpet, face down with a disarray of light brown hair. “I’ll make sure he’s okay!” Allison patted Riley on the back once before crouching down at Matt’s side. “Get Scott!”

It was a demand made by an Argent, one that was trained with tactfulness and leadership. While Riley’s first instinct was to approach chaos, Allison’s was to assess it. Understand it. Manage it. And truth be told, as Riley nodded and continued forward, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she got there. She wasn’t strong like Erica and Scott, she couldn’t fight a creature like Jackson.

But the training Chris had conducted seemed to flash within her memory, almost too quick for her to recognize what she should have done, before she found herself at the outskirts of a fight. Erica was on her side, her blonde curls matted beneath her head as if she’d just toppled over. And Scott, phased with glowing yellow eyes, took a swipe at Jackson’s upraised and clawed arm. The Kanima was only half phased, the peachy undertone of Jackson’s skin peering beneath the scales.

It hissed then, it’s yellow eyes slitted in presumable irritation as it’s tail whipped around from behind his body and struck Scott’s chest. The werewolf went flying, falling against the shelf of books at the end of the aisle as the wooden unit splintered from the force. It’s head snapped in Riley’s direction then as Jackson’s blue lips stretched back over his sharpened teeth. He snarled at her, his clawed hands curling at his side as he stalked forward suddenly.

Did the Kanima truly see her as a threat? _Human and defenseless?_

Perhaps it didn’t care.

Riley’s numbs legs began to backpedal, taking a step back for every three he took forward. And as he rose his arm high, his claws sprung, as if he were going to strike her, Riley swayed unsteadily to dodge his swipe. Her body twisted away from him, her feet daring to break into a sprint until she felt the cold and clammy grip of his palm capture the top of her arm. It brought her to a dead halt, yanking her back until she felt her shoulders graze his chest.

And as forcefully as Jackson could, he shoved her to the side as he used his body to pin her against the bookshelves. A terrified swell bursted through Riley’s lips, her breaths coming in heated spurts as she felt the pulse of the Kanima’s heart against her spine. That was how still she remained, scared to move even a muscle in fear that Jackson might have reacted to her movements in negative way.

His lips were at her ear, his breath against the back of her neck as he used one clawed hand to brush her hair over her shoulder, the razored edge of his nail raking over the skin at the nape of her hairline. It stung for a moment, before a liquid—hot fire seeped down her spine. It was the toxin from the Kanima’s claws, entering her body as it traveled in her bloodstream like a wildfire.

Riley could feel a heaviness gather in her chest, the paralytic substance locking her into place one cell at a time.

He let her go then, stepping away from her body as she swayed against the weight in her bones. A numbness overtook her limbs, unable to feel the ground beneath her feet as the air whipped past her, falling onto her back with a muted _thud_. Able to hear the yelling of her friends, their voices, calling out to each other as her eyes shifted back onto the Kanima as it made it’s escape. It leapt from the ground to the second story window, bursting through the glass before disappearing out of sight.

And she could feel nothing besides the rampant pulse of her own heart pounding against her ribs.

###

###

It hadn’t dawned on her that they’d left the school until a sense of weightlessness coiled in her gut, her head lolled against Stiles’ shoulder. She was in his arms now as he gently removed her from the back seat of his Jeep. Had she zoned out that much that she hadn’t noticed the drive here? Unsure of where here truly was, her eyes focused in for only a moment to see Scott shuffling at a quick pace up ahead, a thrashing blonde cradled in his arms.

And suddenly they were inside of a building, _a Hospital_ , Riley thought at first, but decided it wasn’t once the lights above failed to illuminate what would have been a lobby. The building was dark, dingy even, the smell of motor oil and paint filling her lungs. A rabid sound tore it’s way up Erica’s throat then, reclaiming Riley’s attention as they filed into a room with a soft, orange glow. “Derek!” Scott called, his tone laced with indescribable fear.

The building became familiar then as the room opened up into a spacious subway platform. Abandoned and distilled, as if no one had reclaimed the building after the business failed to set off. But it was where Derek called home. Where he and Isaac were safely hidden from the ones who would often times seek them out. It wasn’t a home, but it worked. It was the only place left for Isaac to go, orphaned at the age of sixteen, he was Derek’s responsibility now.

Able to hear the quick footsteps of the Alpha as he leapt from the unhinged subway doors, his expression torn. “She started seizing!” Scott breathed unevenly, setting Erica’s body down on the pavement at their feet. “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to take her!” The Beta confessed uneasily. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“What happened?” Derek planted his knees at Erica’s side, pinning her arm against his thigh to keep her limbs from flailing. He glanced at Stiles, hoping for an explanation as the freckle—faced teen rested Riley’s limp body along the length of the counter. Stiles shook out his arms, hoping to eliminate the ache from having carried her to and from the Jeep.

It was Scott who spoke up. “It was Jackson.” He blurted out, earning Derek’s attention as he shifted his gaze from Riley’s unresponsive body, back to the werewolf at his side. “How do we stop it?” He asked, feeling Erica’s skin tremble beneath his palm.

Without carefully analyzing his theory, Derek gripped Erica’s arm between two firm hands. He pursed his lips, bracing himself for the onslaught of screams that were bound to tear their way up from the blonde’s throat, before snapping her wrist. Bone splintered through her skin, her blood running along Derek’s fingers as her scream raked it’s way from between her gritted teeth.

Riley could hear it, her head lazily lolled forward in Erica’s direction, wishing she could place her hands over her ears. She closed her eyes to it instead, unable to control the piercing echo of her cry as it raked through her mind. It took a few seconds for her scream to die down, her body beginning to heal itself as her seizure came to a halt.

The platform fell into a uneasy silence, save for the audible huffs of air coming from Derek.

Cracking open her eyes just a bit, she could see that Erica’s thrashing had subsided, the pain gave her body something else to focus on as she dozed off tiredly. “Is she going to be okay?” Stiles asked, standing at the foot of the table that unsteadily upheld Riley’s limp frame.

Derek nodded, rising to his feet slowly before looking to Scott. “Jackson’s not going to stop, is he?” He asked the Alpha. “He’s going to keep slaughtering innocent people and we can’t stop him.”

“I told you.” Derek said then, his eyes fixated on an ever—healing Erica. “Something as dangerous as him,” he shook his head, “is better off dead.”

Scott disagreed. “We can’t just kill him.”

“I can’t let him live.” Derek retorted.

 _There it was again,_ Riley thought to herself as she listened to them argue, _Derek’s incessant need to serve and protect Beacon Hills._ It was his parents duty before their fateful death, one he still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around. He felt as if he needed to follow in their footsteps. That he needed to make them proud.

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Stiles chimed in.

“So,” Derek huffed, “he gets to live while more innocent people die?”

Riley cleared her throat, feeling a lodge wedge itself in the cavity of her lungs. It made her mouth dry, but she insisted on speaking up. “What if they're not all innocent?” Her voice was hoarse, and it surprised the three of them to hear her talk. She was beginning to feel the numbness dissolve from the tips of her toes, able to wiggle them beneath her boots. “Legend says that the Kanima only kills murderers, right?"

Derek looked at her intently, wanting to believe that what she said was the truth. But in his experience, he knew better. “Legends are only myths.” He challenged carefully, his tone soft as to not dictate her beliefs. “Not facts.”

“Legend also states that the Kanima seeks a master.” Scott relayed. “Which could be true.”

“And if it’s not?” Derek tilted his head calculatively, his arms bound across his chest.

“It’s the only lead we have.” The Beta persistently mentioned. “Maybe that’s how we stop Jackson? Find the person whose controlling him and go from there?”

Riley could feel her head nod the slightest bit in agreement with Scott. A subtle movement that Derek hadn’t failed to see. “We’ll only truly know,” she breathed, “if the people he murdered were innocent if we find the master.”

The occupants in the room seemed to settle their arguments silently then, figuring that the truth could only be found if they continued to persistently search for it. Because they knew there had to be more to this than what the Bestiary said. It had been written nearly a hundred years prior. People changed. Myths evolved. Nothing ever truly stayed the same. “Were there any other witnesses?” Derek finally asked then, his eyes still set on a numbingly silent Erica.

“Just us,” Stiles waived his hand, “Allison and another kid, Matt.”

Derek’s lips pulled at the mention of another name. “Find him.” He said then, bending at his knees as he prepared to scoop Erica up into his arms. “See if he saw anything. And if he did,” he said, picking the werewolf’s limp body up from the cement, “convince him he didn’t. The last thing we need is for him to run his mouth.”

Scott and Stiles nodded once before beginning to disperse. Derek turned then, carrying Erica’s body into the abandoned subway car where he’d let her rest in Isaac’s bed. Stiles turned to Riley, his arms spread wide as if he were going to engulf her once more. “I should stay.” She whispered quietly, able to fully circulate her ankles and wrists. “Make sure Erica’s okay when she wakes up.”

Stiles looked to her as if he were going to argue, but it was Scott who clasped his hand on his best friends shoulder and began to lead him out. One thing about Scott was that he’d always trust Riley’s judgement. He didn’t feel the need to constantly hover over her like he had to with Stiles. Though he deemed her one of his best friends, he knew her stubbornness would always win over his protective nature.

Waiting until she could hear their footsteps recede into the hallway, she concentrated on the slight movement she’d gain as she flexed her tendons. Her feet were awake now, though her legs still insisted on remaining numb. Her spine tingled as the toxin dissolved, able to arch her back from the table before stretching her hips against the wood.

A relieved breath filtered from her lungs, able to feel them expand to their capacity as she held in a lungful of air to relish in it’s feeling.

It felt alarmingly good to feel the dull ache of her muscles now, rather having to feel the pain it served than in numbness. Anything but the numbness. Because while the toxin had flooded her body, it hadn’t flooded her mind. And without the ability to concentrate on anything else, she was left to face the wave of her own thoughts, afraid she’d drown in them if her pain hadn’t acted like a buoy.

The numbness had left her with a radiating chill, leaving it to weave within her veins as the toxins released her cells one by one. And once she could feel the tightness in her shoulders, she flexed her hips and strained her abs just enough to raise her body into a seated position. _“Hey, hey, hey!”_ Derek’s voice was drowned out by his rushing feet. He could see her body sway against it’s own weight, her legs dangling from the edge of the table as his hand wrapped around her shoulder steadily. _“Easy.”_ He urged her in a soothing voice, able to feel the nerves radiating from her tense frame.

“That paralytic toxin shit is no joke.” She blurted out, raising her tingling arm as she curled and uncurled her fist, able to see the hesitation in her knuckles before her very eyes. She’d never had expected to go through the paralyzation herself, and now that she had, she did not wish to ever return.

Derek kept a firm hand on her shoulder, his eyes sincere. “Imagine being in a pool like that.” He muttered, almost under his breath, as if he didn’t want Riley to imagine it at all. But he could see the shift in her expression as she did, her lips turning down at the corners at just the thought.

She couldn’t bare to think of the burden her body would have made on someone else. How helpless Derek must have felt to be carried. How he would have given anything to take back how vulnerable he’d been. She could see it in his eyes now as she studied them, laced on the edge of the table as if he evaded her stare entirely.

Able to understand what he must have been referring to, she could see how the change in topic had unsettled him. He thought about his body, and how it had acted as a weight that sunk her to the pools depths. He visibly could still see her face, even when he closed his eyes, as she choked on the water. Of the fear laced in her hazel orbs as she drowned, tethered to him, like an anchor.

Her hand instinctively reached out to graze his knuckles, her palm still tingling like static. “Hey,” she breathed, lowering her head to capture his stare. “Don’t do that.” She instructed him, her voice velvet soft and tender. Her fingers gave his a tight squeeze, feeling the crease of his palm beneath the pad of her thumb.

“Do what?” He tried to play dumb. His brow raised slightly, his green eyes rimmed with an oceanic blue.

But she saw past his facade, easily able to identify the guilt behind his lids. “That thing.” She gestured, waiving her finger as she pointed out the expression adorning his face. The one that showcased how much of a liability he felt he was. A burden for others to shoulder, because he couldn’t shoulder it himself sometimes. “Where you think everything is your fault.”

He relaxed his clenched jaw then, wondering if she’d somehow read his mind. Was he that easy to read? Did he wear his guilt like a mask of dishonor? Did she know that his guilt stretched far beyond the wrong doings he done to her? But to everyone? Did she know that it was more than just guilt?

She knew despite her saying it, he would not accept it.

It was not in his nature to brush off his remorse. It lived with him like a shadow that lingered even in the dark.

And just like he felt the need to carry his shame, she felt the need to prove to him that his grief wasn’t all that made him. He’d been built from the ashes of the fire that took everything from him. He was cautious and brave. Loyal and angry. He was made of more flesh and bone than he was of fangs and claws. He was a wolf that wore an armor of skin, because it acted like a shield to prevent the wrong people from getting in.

Because he’d tear them up if they did, _at least_ , thats what he thought.

Derek could never see his hands good for anything but destruction . . . But clasped between Riley Haven’s warm palms, he felt like he’d crumple to his knees. As if the wolf inside would willingly bow at her feet. She’d had this stubbornness about her, one that beat down the armor that cloaked him just enough to peer through it’s cracks. And through the cracks, she’d seen a light.

He was more than the weight he carried. She’d seen that since the start.

“Hey,” she whispered tenderly again, her hand leaving his to cup his cheek instead. The motion made him flinch, his jaw clenching so unbearably hard, he was sure his teeth would break. This kind of intimacy had always been off limits to him . . . _Ever since Kate Argent_. “It’s not your fault.” She repeated more sternly, enunciating each word as if it would echo in his head more clearly.

And when she saw the slightest flicker of absolution collect in his eyes, she found herself leaning forward, the pad of her thumb stroking the sharp stubble of his cheek. It was as if Derek had frozen beneath her touch, hindered by her clear intentions as her lips parted against his. They lingered for a second longer before Derek’s skin flushed with heat, and he allowed himself to reciprocate the kiss. A moment that terrified him, as if he was locked within his own limbs. As if his body dripped in the vulnerability that being this close to someone brought. But Riley was not like Kate. Her intentions were not vindictive. Captured in the swell of her lips, he came to terms with the fact that it didn’t have to be that way again.

That he deserved the simplistic touch of someone that would not leave him bruised.


	21. Warning Sign

Riley pulled her leather jacket closer around her chest, feeling a cool gust of air breeze past her as she entered the front doors to the animal clinic. It was nearing five in the afternoon now, the sun just beginning to set as it cast a prismatic glow through the blinds of the lobby. Derek and Isaac were already there, waiting for her, Scott and Stiles as they exchanged, _what seemed to be_ , worrisome looks. They’d gathered here in search of help, knowing that Scott’s boss, _Deaton_ , knew more about the supernatural than he cared to admit. Without anyone else to turn to for advice, it was Deaton that they hoped could shed light onto a topic they hadn’t quite grasped yet. “What is he doing here?” Stiles said, pointing an accusing finger at Isaac Lahey.

The teen stood taller than Derek, but his frame was much more slender and lean, as if he were built for speed. His curly, dirty—blonde hair hung over his bright blue eyes, his squared face tightening at being confronted. “We need all the help we can get.” Derek defended his Beta.

Stiles turned up his nose, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t trust him.” He scowled, remembering just how dedicated Isaac had been to ending Lydia’s life just the week before. He still hadn’t quite forgiven Derek either, but with Riley’s guidance, he was seeming to forget the Alpha played any wrong doing to begin with.

“That’s the problem.” Scott huffed in a defeated tone, waiving a hand between the space dividing Derek and his pack. “No one trust’s anyone and that’s why our plans never work.” Riley silently agreed, keeping her eyes strained on her werewolf best friend standing beside her. To her, she did not differentiate between his pack and theirs. They were all wolves fighting for the same cause . . . They didn’t need to put a label on it.

She could feel Derek’s eyes on her then, as if he was waiting for her to look his way in return. She hadn’t spoken to him since last night. He’d driven her back home after she’d kissed him. Fully expecting things to be different between them now, she couldn’t help but feel it was somehow still the same. And when she’d waken up to nothing from him, not even a text, she couldn’t help but feel that perhaps her feelings were a one way street. “We’re here to help Jackson.” Riley stated then, as odd as that statement sounded. She looked to Scott then for clarification. “Are you sure your boss can really help?”

But it wasn’t Scott who replied, hearing a voice murmur from the hallway leading to the backroom. “That depends,” it said as everyones eyes landed on Deaton as he rounded the corner to the lobby, “your friend, are you planning on saving him?’ His dark complexion seemed to glow beneath the fluorescent lights. “Or kill him?”

 _“Save him.”_ Scott confirmed almost instantly.

Deaton waived his hand forward then, signaling them to follow him to his back clinic. They did so in a single file line, their eyes wandering curiously at the sterile veterinarian supplies lined along the walls. His metal examination table was centered in the middle of the room, standing at the front of it as the rest of them gathered around it’s edges. He was silent for a moment, concentrating deeply on how he wanted to bridge the topic of their discussion. Riley hadn’t noticed until then that Derek had taken his stance at her side, bracing himself eagerly against the table top as if he were impatient about Deaton’s theories. “If you want to defeat a Kanima,” Deaton’s silky and clear voice hummed, “or any supernatural for that matter, you need to hinder it.”

He left his position at the front of the table, pacing along his cabinets before he reached into one at the end of the row. He retrieved something from the top shelf, like a spice rack that held several glass jars. He placed them in the center of the table, their metal lids scribed with symbols Riley didn’t recognize. It was Isaac who reached out an inquisitive hand, too curious for his own good, until Derek slapped his hand away aggressively. “Be careful of what you touch.” He hissed at his Beta.

Riley watched as Isaac recoiled his hand, his head bowing against the weight of Derek’s comment. “What are you?” Isaac then asked in a small and unsure voice. “Some kind of witch?”

The Beta eyed the herbs nestled within the glass jars, his assumption getting the best of him. But it was Deaton who stifled a laugh, shaking his head with a slight roll of his eye. “No.” He confirmed. _“I’m a veterinarian.”_ His hands seemed to fiddle with the jars, pursing his lips after studying their contents. “Unfortunately,” he began gravely, “I don’t have anything here that could be used as a defense against it’s paralytic toxin.”

“We’re open to suggestions.” Derek nodded pleadingly.

“What kind of measures have you taken already?” The vet asked, his question veering towards his interest in their physical tactics. The more he knew, the more he could weed out improbable defense mechanisms that would do nothing but waste their time.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest then, looking to Deaton assertively. “I tried ripping it’s head off.” He confessed, to which the Vet frowned. “And Argent emptied an entire clip into it. _The thing,_ ” he huffed anxiously, “just gets right back up.”

It took Deaton a second to analyze that information before asking, “Has it shown any weaknesses at all?”

“I don’t think it can swim.” Stiles interjected, referring to the night it had trapped them in the pool.

Riley nodded in agreement. “It wouldn’t even come close to the waters edge.”

Deaton’s head tilted to the side, an intrigued expression lacing his features. “Does the same go for Jackson?” He questioned. “Does he not know how to swim?”

Scott was already shaking his head. “He’s the captain of the swim team.” He shared.

 _“Interesting.”_ Deaton said then, taking a step back from the examination table to collect the information given to him. “It seems as if you’re trying to catch two different people.” He exclaimed. “A puppet and a puppeteer.”

A dryness collected in Riley’s throat then, having already guessed that this man--hunt involved two people. “Which makes the theory about the Kanima seeking a master true.” Isaac said.

Deaton reached for a glass jar off—centered in the rack, placing it on the table for everyone else to see. The substance inside had a chalky texture, it’s pigment rich and black. “I may have something that can be used to subdue Jackson, but I’m afraid I can’t promise it’ll work on whoever is controlling him.” The substance Deaton spoke of was something Derek had seen before, years ago, inside the family vault his mother used to tend to. “This is Mountain Ash.” Deaton declared. “The only thing strong enough to subdue a supernatural creature.” He looked to Stiles pointedly then. “It will work on Jackson.” He assured. “But only if the ash is distributed evenly around the property and the seal remains intact.” His eyes shifted back to Scott then. “Is there a particular place you plan on trapping him?”

“I have one in mind.” The Beta suggested. “There’s a concert tonight.” He looked to Riley and Stiles, who had heard the hype about this particular venue almost all week from their peers. “From what I’ve heard, everyone is going to be there. Even Jackson.”

“And perhaps his master, too.” Deaton agreed. He left his place at the table again, venturing off toward his rows of cabinets in search for another object. Skimming through his drawers with nimble hands, he pulled a syringe from its depths. “This is ketamine.” He explained, holding it up for them to see. It’s murky liquid swished against the plastic keeping it in place. “Once you have Jackson trapped, you can use a dose to safely tranquilize him.”

He handed the syringe to Isaac, who tucked it away inside the pocket of his jacket. “If this works,” Scott cleared his throat, “we might be able to figure out whose controlling him.” He said it as if it would somehow spark hope into their minds, as if they needed to hear it to believe it. Despite Riley’s vast knowledge of the supernatural being slim to none, she knew better than to hope. Hope didn’t out trump logistics. There was no way of ever going into something like this prepared.

Stiles broke the silence then, clapping Riley on the back from across the table. “Maybe then your cryptic nightmares will stop.” He laughed, using her night terrors as a way to lighten the mood of their discussion.

But Riley didn’t find it funny, especially when everyone’s eyes landed on her.  _“Nightmares?”_ Deaton repeated, his brow furrowed just the slightest bit.

His expression was stone—like, void of any emotion that signified his interest. Riley shrugged it off, playing down the terror in her own voice by simply stating, “They’re nothing.”

The slightest glint within his eyes expressed that this didn’t seem like nothing. And the longer he stared at her, the more he wished to pry. “Have you known about the Kanima for long?”

She became visibly taken aback by his question, nervously crossing her arms over her chest as if it would somehow shield her from his direct line of sight. “No longer than anyone else.” She promised, but Scott, Derek and Isaac could easily detect the murmur in the pulse of her heart. It signified a lie, one Derek wasn’t comfortable letting go. “I mean I’ve been having nightmares a lot these past few months,” she tucked a stray hair back behind her ear, “they just have all felt so real.”

“Uh— _Yeah_.” Stiles chimed in a sing—song voice. “Because they all ended up happening.”

His insistent need to fill the silence with word vomit caused Riley’s hands to ball into fists. She did not appreciate being put on the spot, nor having her personal experiences splayed out for everyone to see. But no one said anything, they all just sort of looked at her expectantly, with curious eyes and finely pressed lips. And when Deaton asked her to elaborate on the truth Stiles spoke of, she took a heavy breath to calm herself. Explaining the night terrors she’d had in detail. Each and every one since she’d moved here. And he listened with wonder in his eyes and a tender expression, wanting to absorb each and every last detail Riley dared offer up. And as she explained the most recent one, she made a mental note of kicking Stiles’ ass. He’d deserve it after the embarrassment of unraveling the inner workings of her own mind.

“Things like this do not tend to happen often,” he said after a minute, “I’ve only ever read about it in folklore.” He leaned across the table toward her, his eyes gleaming and insistent. “They are visions only seen through the subconscious.” He said. “A form of precognition if you wilI. These visions you are getting could all vary in interpretation.” His explanation seemed to catch her off guard, finding it hard to follow his relay of theories, his voice drowned out by the ringing in her ears. “Think of it as an emotional bond with your future self.” He elaborated. “Sending you warning signals with hopes that you will understand. When did these night terrors start happening?”

“Three months ago.” She confirmed. “When my mom died.”

And suddenly the room fell silent, but it was Deaton who overlooked the significance of that detail with his own theory. “Perhaps that is what triggered it. Sometimes,” he further continued, “when someone endures a traumatic experience, it can set things in motion.” His eyes shifted to Derek and then back to Riley. “We all handle tragedy differently, but this,” he waived to her timidly, “this might be a way your subconscious is protecting itself from future suffering. To prepare it for what is to come.”

And suddenly, Riley’s thoughts drifted to Erica and how her body always sent itself signals before a seizure. How her mouth would over salivate, how her saliva would taste like metal. A trigger that prepared her for what was to come, and if she’d paid attention to the signs, she’d always been ready for them. Was it that odd to imagine that her own body could do the same for her? That after all the loss she’d ensured, that her subconscious would deliver her warnings in perfectly wrapped nightmares? She swallowed the bile that rose into her throat, keeping her gaze strained on the metal tabletop before her. Riley didn’t dare meet eyes with anyone glancing her way.

###

###

  
Riley sat in the passenger side of the Jeep parked just outside of the venue of where the concert was to take place. Scott had just left, sneaking inside to scope out the floorpan in case things went south. Her and Stiles hadn’t spoken since they’d left the clinic, but she could feel the nervous pulse of his energy as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. It felt as if he were afraid of her. Of what she’d say after he’d outed her like that. But she bit her tongue at it, her eyes scanning the groups of people as they headed inside the building. They hadn’t seen Jackson yet, but he could have arrived earlier under the direction of his master. Stiles toyed with his phone then, sending her anxious glances every few seconds. “Are you mad at me?” He finally asked, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

She did not reply at first, begrudgingly glaring out the windshield until she mustered up enough courage to speak rationally. “I’m not _not_ mad at you.” She clarified.

 _“Look,”_ he began, hoping to clear the air, “It sounded like Deaton knows what he’s talking about.”

Riley huffed, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. “Or he’s just feeding me some cryptic—ass bullshit.“

“Why would he lie to you?” Stiles demanded sheepishly, his voice overlapping hers. “He’s just trying to help.”

Riley leaned back into her seat, her rigid hands clutching at her thighs to keep from wrapping around his throat. “Do you really think I’m some mystical messenger from the future?” She snapped, her anger causing the vein within her neck to pulse in quick and aching spurts.

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, but promptly shut it when he found that a sarcastic response might not have been the best idea. “In Beacon Hills,” he hinted tactfully, “I think anything is possible.”

The truth within his words felt devastating, because she knew that this town was quite literally a beacon for the supernatural. Unable to come to terms with it, she left the subject alone to revisit for another time. She couldn’t lose her focus on tonights endeavor. If any of them hesitated for even a second, she knew another person could easily end up dead. Watching as a sleek and black Camaro pulled up next to them, she retracted herself from the Jeep to meet Derek and Isaac at the back of Stiles’ bumper. “I heard the Argent’s are coming.” Derek stated as he pulled his fists from the pockets of his leather jacket. “If they find Jackson before we do he’s as good as dead.”

“Then make sure that doesn’t happen.” Riley prompted him, to which he nodded willingly.

“And _you_ make sure nobody gets killed.” Derek replied back to her.

“I’ll find Jackson.” Isaac held up the syringe of Ketamine. “And text you when I get him.”

Stiles opened the back of his Jeep then, gathering a black trash bag holding a significant amount of Mountain Ash. He dropped it at his feet, placing his hands on his hips. “I kind of feel like we’re the Avengers.” He mentioned with a goofy grin. “I’m obviously Captain America though.” He implied before waiving to himself. Derek shot him a menacing look, one that suggested he keep focused. _“Right.”_ Stiles backtracked. “I’ll make sure the magical fairy dust gets distributed around every entrance and exit.” He grabbed the bag then, tossing it over his shoulder. “Nothing supernatural is getting in or out.” He promised with a salute.

  
###

###

  
Trailing along the inside of the venue, Riley could feel the beat echo off the cement walls from the DJ toward the front. The lights were dim, nearly too dark to see if it weren't for the flashing, vivid spotlights up above. It set the vibe for the event, thought it seemed to feel more like a rave than any concert she’d ever been to. And as Riley paced the outskirts of the stage pit, she could see Allison seated on a stool near the bar. Her gaze was heavily focused on the party, ensuring she kept tabs on any strange behavior happening tonight. And no matter how far her eyes could reach, Riley could not find where Isaac had run off to, on his own mission to tranquilize Jackson, she figured she’d stay close in case he needed back up. Most of her really wished the plan would follow through the way it was suppose to for once, but even she wasn’t dumb enough to believe the night was in their favor.

And Scott was somewhere too, invisible to Riley’s own eyes, but she trusted he was there.

Of course he’d be here, saving people was like second nature to him.

Riley paused for a moment, leaning against the cemented pillar as she skimmed over the faces quickly. Nothing stood out to her, but thats something she’d expected. Tragedy never wore a face. it would strike quickly and often times to the most vulnerable. Looking as these kids in the face, she couldn’t come to terms with the fact that one of them might die. “Hey!” A voice sounded from her right, hesitantly removing her eyes from the crowd to look at the boy approaching her. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

It was Matt, holding a red solo cup, and from the looks of it, it must have been his third or fourth. His voice was drowned out by the drop of a beat, but his expression seemed happy and flushed. “It was a last minute decision.” She lied, offering him a tight lipped smile in return. She hadn’t seen him since the incident yesterday, assessing him once with her eyes before asking, “Are you okay?” She asked, her voice rising over the music. “You know, after what happened?”

“Yeah!” He grinned wildly, almost as if he didn’t truly understand the question. “I feel great!” His camera was draped around his neck, a sign that perhaps he was suppose to be shooting snapshots of tonights show, but had found that the bar lacked morality when it came to serving minors. “Can I get you a drink?” He asked when he noticed her hands empty. “It’s on me!” His offer hung heavily between them, but her decline was more—so aimed at letting him down gently. And despite her refusal, he remained persistent. “What about a dance?” He asked, his cheeks flushed from either his tipsy state of mind or his boldness.

But she politely shook her head. “I don’t dance.”

Matt laughed, his breath wafting in her direction; minty and pungent.

His hand encircled her wrist then, tugging on it sharply. “C’mon! I’ll show you!” And though he’d seemed drunk a minute ago, the insistent nature of his eyes suggested something else. His grip on her tightened when her stance did not budge, his giddy expression turning sour.

“I—I should really find my friends.” She calmly explained, not wanting to upset him.

Riley twisted her wrist out of his grip before swiveling on her feet and making a b—line for the opposite end of the room. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, unsure if she could stomach the glare in his eyes once he acknowledged her rejection. _‘Why was he so persistent?’_ , Riley wondered, clearing her mind as she took a new perch to focus back in on the crowd.

Shaking off the darkness of Matt’s lingering stare, she wondered how Derek must have been holding up against the Argents. Of course Chris had his own plans after the incident that took place yesterday. Despite Jackson being a child, the Argent could not tolerate a creature that dangerous going after his daughter. He had a code to abide by, one that had leveled his mindset for nearly twenty years; _We hunt those who hunt us._

Derek’s job was to merely distract them long enough for Isaac to get to Jackson first. And once he’d gotten the Ketamine into his system, they’d only have a ten minute window before his body would dissolve the tranquilizer. After that, there was no real way of knowing what would happen. Surely Jackson was here on a mission, not as a teenager that was living up the night. He was here for a reason, perhaps killing off another person was in his masters agenda. And though Scott was only scouting the perimeter of the venue, she still hadn’t heard back from him. It was possible he’d gotten hung up on something, but his absence left a bitter taste in her mouth. Riley did not like the odds that were stacked against them tonight. It felt like they were entering a battle that they could not win.

How could they? _They were just kids._

They were not as skilled as Chris Argent, and for a second, Riley couldn’t help but think that maybe the hunter would be more qualified to take out Jackson. But his intentions were not to let him live, and that was the main component that divided them. As much as she never thought she’d stand up for Jackson Whittemore, she couldn’t find it in herself to step back and allow the fate that Chris had planned to catch up with him.

She figured herself to be better than that. She hoped so at least.

Her phone within the back pocket of her denim shorts vibrated then, collecting it within her palm before reading the message Isaac had sent to their group chat. He’d gotten the Ketamine dose inside of Jackson, and the clock was already winding against them. Quick on her feet, she found herself dodging the swaying bodies of the teens dancing to the techno music blasting from the speakers. Isaac had sent the directions of where to find him, in the storage closet in the back of the venue. And as Riley crossed the threshold from the lounge to the back hallway, she could still feel the rhythmic pulse of the music quake within the walls.

The hallway was dimly lit, dark blue overhead lights guiding her further and further toward the back, paying no mind to the signs that signified ‘Employee’s Only’. Rules didn’t matter when things became life or death, especially in these instances. And the further in she walked, the more muffled the music became, but she could distinctly hear the quick patter of someone sprinting from the hallways that adjoined hers. It was Stiles, breathless and spastic as his sneakers skidded against the cement. He’d gotten the text from Isaac too, having snuck in through the back door to make it to them in time. “Did you get the exits sealed?” Riley asked, her pace breaking into a brisk run to match his as they continued down the same hall.

She was sure he nodded in return, his gasps for breath swallowing any words he’d willingly spoken.

And as they reached the door Isaac had lead them to, Stiles burst through the supply closet without a second thought. Promptly slamming the door shut behind her, she found that her, Stiles and Isaac all stood shoulder to shoulder, as much room as the closet would allow as they faced Jackson. He was tethered to a chair, an overhead light casting his chiseled features into hallow shadows. His body was lazily slumped against his seat, clearly out of it from the dosage Isaac had administered. “Has he said anything?” Riley wondered, looking at her phone in hopes for Scott’s reply. He still hadn’t . . . and that worried her.

He was the one with the plan once they’d captured the Kanima, but now they faced him with nervous eyes, unsure of where to go from here. “No.” Isaac insisted calmly, his eyes never once leaving Jackson’s form. “I think the ketamine was too much.”

But Isaac’s assumption was drowned out by the snarky and dark chuckle escaping Jackson’s throat. His head rolled forward, his limp limbs becoming rigid as he eyes snapped open to reveal his cold, blue orbs. _“I’m here.”_ He spoke in a monotoned voice, guttural and heavy.

His expression was void, his lips moving the same way a puppets would. As if he’d been possessed. It was the same look he wore the day before at the school, one that caused a ripple of fear to tear its way down Riley’s spine. “Jackson?” She found herself whispering, but his eyes did not meet hers. “Is—is that you?”

She couldn’t be sure, because his movements felt too fluid to be real. _“Us.”_ He responded gravely. _“We’re all here.”_

Stiles couldn’t help himself as he glanced nervously at Riley, his long fingers trembling before he curled them into fists. This was not just Jackson, he’d theorized, he could hear it in the threatening echo of his voice. Perhaps it was the master taking control again, and if it was, Stiles concluded that he would not let them slip through their hands again. He bent down to his knees, becoming eye level with the jock as he cautiously peered into his lifeless eyes. “Are you the one thats been murdering people?” He demanded in a hoarse tone, his question aimed at whoever was overtaking Jackson.

 _“We are,”_ the voice murmured like a pre recorded answer, _“the ones killing murderers.”_

The voice spoke in first person, referring to himself and Jackson as if they were one. Riley could feel her gut rise into her chest, finding it harder to breathe from how claustrophobic the closet felt. As if the walls were closing in on them. As if Jackson was the one with the upper hand. “So all the people you’ve killed,” Riley prompted with a dry throat, “they—“

 _“Deserved it.”_ Jackson finished for her, his voice deepening the slightest bit.

Jackson’s hands were so rigid, curled against the curve of his thigh as his shoulders began to tremble. “Who did they murder?” Isaac confronted.

And for the first time since Jackson had begun speaking, he turned his head to glare at the werewolf. The light blue color of his eyes seemed to darken, his eyes slanted into narrowed slits before he snarled. _“Me.”_ His lips curled into his gums, baring his pearly white teeth. _“They murdered me.”_ His voice echoed harshly, his frame beginning to radiate an intense energy that felt heavier than grief. And before Riley could truly process his words, and the meaning behind them, Jackson swiftly rose onto two feet. His features had changed now, squared and hard as the blue—green texture of his scales started to stretch along his exposed skin. His lips turned black, his eyes a dangerous and toxic shade of yellow.

Opening his mouth to release a hollowed hiss from his lungs, he lurched forward as he shoved Riley and Stiles from blocking the exit. Without even using the door, he tore it from it’s hinges before escaping into the hallway. Riley felt her body slam against the cement, her forehead banging against the metal shelves once Stiles had fallen on top of her. “Follow him!” The spastic kid directed Isaac as he tried to right himself again.

The werewolf nodded, his eyes flashing a golden shade before dashing off into the dark.

Instinctively, Riley’s fingers trembled as they ghosted along her temple, biting the inside of her cheek when she saw that the pads of her fingers came back a crimson shade of red. She hadn’t felt the initial impact, but now that the chaotic chill had begun to evade her body, she could feel a sting right above her right eyebrow. A sense of disorientation clouded her mind, sitting up as Riley felt the room begin to sway. And despite her ability to adjust to it, Stiles gripped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her to her feet in such a swift movement that it left her stumbling forward. But by the time she could make sense of the feeling and reel it back in, they were already sprinting. Dashing through the poorly lit halls, twisting around every turn in fear that their hold on Jackson was slipping more and more.

Riley was sure she could feel her heart beat against her ribs, her breath coming in heavy gasps. Tonight was the first night they’d truly gotten a sneak peek at the one controlling Jackson. Someone with a vengeance had taken over him, using Jackson to simplify their eye for an eye mentality. They’d insisted that each and every one of their murders had served a purpose. A way of repaying the favor to those who had murdered him first . . . _Whatever the hell that meant._

Able to feel the pulse of music begin to thump from up ahead, the closer they got, it was easy to mistake the crowds cheers and sudden screams. Once Riley and Stiles had made it back to the lounge, their bodies came to a sudden halt. Riley inched closer to her friend, her hand fisting the back of his shirt to keep a comforting hold on him as the concert goers dispersed into terrified sprints. And their screams were so loud, Riley couldn’t adapt to it’s piercing echo. Following the crowd toward the exits, they could only assume what it was that had truly spooked these kids. Their screams were not out of surprise, they were deep and hollow. They echoed with fear. They were shrill and loud and loud enough to drown out the rampant pulse thudding against Riley’s chest.

The night air seemed more brisk as she and Stiles sprinted from the exit, finally able to catch their breath as Riley’s eyes scanned the parking lot. People were cramming themselves into their cars, panicking as they sped hectically from the scene. But they kept their stance, facing the building as Riley took note of the black ash at her feet. She stepped over it carefully, hoping it would be strong enough to bind any supernatural creature inside.

Feeling a hand ghost along the small of her back, Riley whirled around quickly to find that Derek had joined them at the entrance. He took in her expression, a mixture of lost and cautious. She was on edge as she watched a group of teens sprint past them, their voices carrying in disbelief as to what they’d seen. Derek paused, inclining his head in their direction to listen to their breathless voices until they disappeared around the block. He turned back to Stiles and Riley, figuring their plan hadn’t gone as hoped. “Someone inside got their throat torn out.” He relayed. His tone was almost mechanic, as if he was too familiar with these murders happening over and over and over again.

Stiles piped in then, taking a second to explain to Derek what had exactly gone down in that supply closet. And as he retold the story, all Riley could keep imagining was the dark haze of Jackson’s eyes. The way they were so vicious, yet somehow still so hollow. How his voice had been a flat and threatening tone, and how he referred to himself as ‘we’.

 _Who was we?_ Who was the one who had singlehandedly taken over Jackson? As less and less people filtered out of the venue, the more she began to think they’d never catch him. Derek rose a hand suddenly, his finger up as he silenced Stiles in the middle of his story. “Did you hear that?” He asked, his eyes scanning the front of the building with wild eyes. Riley strained her ears, but could only begin to hear the silence as the last few party goers filtered out. There was a hum coming from the building still, the speakers still recording the looping record on the DJ booth. She could tell by the feared glimmer in Derek’s stare that that was not what he was referring to.

He took a step forward instinctively, tip toeing forward until he was met with the forceful seal of the mountain ash. It burned a wild blue as he tried to cross it, taking a step back once the stinging sensation crept over his skin. He was unable to cross the barrier, but he could still hear the recognizable and distant beat of a heart. _“It’s Scott.”_ He said in a low and breathless voice. Able to identify the decreased rate in which Scott McCall’s pulse thumped against his ribs, he could sense that something was wrong. “I think he’s dying!” Derek turned to Riley then, waiving a hand at the ash. “Break the seal!” The directness in his tone suggested she should obey, bending to her knees as she used the flat palm of her hand to split the ash, disturbing the seal just enough for Derek to break into a sprint toward the entrance of the venue and out of sight.

  
###

###

  
There seemed to be a breath of relief once Riley stepped foot inside of her apartment, shutting the door behind Derek before flicking the deadbolt with a tight wrist. A swell of paranoia crept into her mind, remembering the events of tonight with such detail, it left her visibly rattled. Derek shuffled further inside, removing his leather jacket with slow and pained movements. Able to detect the wince in his expression as he then tossed it lazily over the top of her dresser. She was silent, unsure of what to say. Tonight had felt like every bad horror film rolled into one . . . _And for what?_

All Riley could truly think about was Scott. How after Derek had sprinted inside, he’d came out dragging Scott’s limp body. She remembered the blood and how it had made bile rise into her throat. She remembered the pale overlay of his trembling lips. His translucent lids and how she could see every vein idling beneath his paper thin skin. She could still feel the blood on her hands . . . As if she couldn’t quite wash it away. “He’s going to be okay.” Derek assured her once he picked up on the nervous patter of her heart.

They’d taken Scott to Deaton, who’d treated his wounds and filtered out the smoke in his lungs. Her best friend could have so easily died tonight. She looked to Derek then with appreciative eyes, glad that he’d stepped up and saved the Beta, though she still couldn’t wrap her head around the story Derek had retold from inside. Riley bit her lip with an anxious clench of her jaw. “Are you . . .” She trailed off. “Are you sure it was Allison’s mother?” This bit of information had surprised her, not having expected Victoria Argent to aide in Scott’s demise, especially when her daughter had no idea. It was presumed that Victoria must have found out about Allison and Scott sneaking around, inciting a murderous and protective instinct to cloud the hunters judgement.

With one slow and sad nod of his head, Derek confirmed her question with thinly pressed lips. “She had a vaporizer filled with a rare Wolfsbane.” He insinuated that she’d cornered him while he’d been alone, taking advantage of moment with a diabolical vision of revenge. “Who knows how long he’d been inhaling it.” He shook his head, disrupting the memory of stumbling into a foggy room, his eyes burning as the wolfsbane filtered into his lungs, making his limbs feel so incredibly heavy within seconds. Derek remembered the knife in Victoria’s hand, the glimmer of vengeance in her crystal clear, blue eyes and how she’d already taken the first step in killing a child.

Victoria Argent didn’t see a baby—faced teen . . . She saw a monster.

“And Jackson,” Riley breathed heavily as she leaned against the counter of her adjoining kitchen, “he killed another person tonight.”

She frowned, unable to justify the guilt she felt because of it. If they had contained him for just a moment longer, perhaps the girl he’d targeted would still have a pulse. Of all the terrors she’d faced, tonight had been unbearable in comparison. She felt responsible for the inhumane slaughtering of another person. She felt responsible for not paying attention to the signs that suggested Scott had been missing. If only she could go back. If she could replay those moments.

Derek took a step toward her then, his hand reaching up as he grazed his thumb over the two strips of suture tape above her brow. Deaton had aided her once he cleared Scott’s lungs, despite Riley’s resistance. And just like Riley had wished to go back and do things differently tonight, Derek wished the same. Because he knew he should have been there to keep the Kanima in line. He felt responsible for the blood she’d shed, and for Scott’s . . . And for the girl who Jackson had killed. His guilt went far beyond anything Riley could fathom.

She could see the responsibility he must have felt, because she pulled his hand away from her cheek and into her hand, her eyes softening into a tender stare. It was as if she was silently reprimanding him for even thinking it was his fault . . . Especially since she’d already volunteered to shoulder the blame.

It was Derek whose lip turned up into a tired half smile, leaning forward with hesitancy before he pressed a flat kiss to her lips. Riley’s hand clutched his a bit tighter, rising onto the tips of her toes to put more of herself into the weight of their kiss. He seemed to pause for a moment, still unsure and timid of the feeling that her touch brought him. It had been so incredibly long since he’d felt the flesh of another human being beneath his hands without the intention of digging his claws into them. And when his skin matched the fevered high of hers, he felt the heaviness in his chest lighten. As if her touch was the cure to mending a broken man. As if she could put him back together and so easily tear him back apart. He pulled away then suddenly, breathless and careful as he rested his forehead against hers. “I have to tell you something.” He breathed, referring to something unforgivable that he’d done that night. It was a truth he felt so unbelievably petrified to speak, only because he knew the consequences of what he’d done and how the truth would inevitably scare her away. _“I—“_ His voice was cut off as a sudden knock at Riley’s front door sounded.

Derek could sense the familiar thud of the heart beat belonging to an Argent. His body felt cemented to the floor beneath his feet, his limbs locking into place. Of course the Argent’s would come for him after what he’d done tonight . . . It was Riley who broke away first, heading for the door with a furrowed brow. It rounded to nearly one in the morning, unsure of who would come to see her so late in the night. She yanked open the door without peeking through the peep hole first, surprised to see Allison Argent on the other side. She seemed disturbed, her brown eyes wide and conflicted as they skimmed past Riley’s shoulder to see Derek idling in the back, before gliding back to hers. “I have something you need to see.” Allison said with a stammer, raising her hand to show Riley an SD card firmly gripped between her two fingers.

Allison did not wait for Riley to respond, ghosting past her friend with an insistent stride. Derek seemed to relax now, identifying the reason for Allison’s arrival was not what he’d thought. He’d assumed she’d come for him, but she barely paid any mind to him as the hunter snatched Riley’s laptop that sat above the covers of her bed and placed it on the kitchen counter. She did not even question Derek’s presence here, having already accepted that he’d almost always be wherever Riley Haven was. “What is this about?” She finally asked, coming to stand beside the square faced brunette as both she and Derek hovered over Allison’s shoulder.

Allison inserted the SD card into Riley’s laptop, waiting for her Mac to identify the file before clicking on it with a heavy breath. “You know that kid, Matt?” She asked assertively, to which Riley nodded with a confused furrow of her brow. “I drove him home from the concert tonight,” she relayed sternly, “because he was drunk. This fell out of his camera bag when I dropped him off at his house.”

The hunter stepped aside, allowing Riley to maneuver herself in front of the screen as Allison instructed her to click on the file. She could feel her gut constrict in anticipation, reading too far into the unnerved expression of her friend. Riley placed her finger on the keypad, clicking on the file with a nervous roll of her shoulders. A picture popped up then, a staged candid of a group of seniors as they smiled toward the camera. Riley clicked the arrow on the right hand side of the page, her curiosity getting the best of her as she skimmed through the pictures saved to his memory card. They were all pictures he’d taken for the school yearbook, immortalizing the memories of his fellow students with phenomenal angles and clarity.

Riley paused once she reached the candid he’d taken of her in the library. Her eyes were down, creased from the wide smile stretched over her pearly white teeth. The wall length window behind her let into a stream of light from the sun, basking her in an ethereal glow. It wasn’t a bad picture in the slightest, but it had caught her off guard when he’d taken it. Allison audibly held her breath then as Riley’s finger hovered over the arrow that would pull up the next picture. And when Riley saw what it was of, her head tilted to the head in confusion. It was a snapshot of her traveling up the stairs of her apartment, almost unsure if it was truly her, due to the night sky covering her features in a deep shadow.

She felt her lungs tighten, expanding them to their fullest capacity before releasing an unsteady breath of air. She clicked the arrow again, this time, the snapshot was of a direct view of her apartment window. The angle was elevated as if he’d been in the tree across the street. The blinds of Riley’s apartment window were open, never needing a full reason to close them since she’d lived on the second story. She clicked the arrow again, the same shot through her window, able to see the disarray of her bed in the background as she looked at herself removing her jacket from her bare shoulders. Riley clicked the arrow again, feeling her jaw tighten, but she could not ease the tension in her jaw as she saw the same angle of her window again, pointed into her apartment through the open blinds, and to herself gripping her shirt between her two fists as if she were going to remove it.

Her hand trembled as she clicked the arrow again, her shirt tossed to the carpet at her feet as her arms bent behind her back to unclasp her bra. Riley rose her finger, daring to hit the arrow button again, before Allison’s hand clasped hers. “You don’t want to see the rest,” she murmured carefully, “believe me.”


	22. Three is a Pattern

_Riley’s bare feet ghosted along the dirty cement, her legs aching with every step she took. Up ahead, she could see a spotlight beaming down in the darkness, acting like a beacon, as it shined down upon a pretty red—head. Continuing forward as she bit back the ache forming deep inside her bones, she could make out the quiver raking down Lydia Martin’s spine._

_She was scared. Her green eyes were nearly bulging from her head, though her expression remained aloof. Riley paused before her friend, assessing her with a timid stare as if she were afraid the girl before her would crumble beneath the weight biting at her shoulders. Riley’s mouth opened as if she were going to speak her name, but promptly shut once the red—haired teen rose her enclosed fist up for her to see._

_She flexed her palm out, showing off the radiant and purple powder gathered in her hand._

_It’s glimmer reminded Riley of the Wolfsbane flowers sprouting from the base of Derek Hale’s house. Lydia Martin’s lips puckered then, her lungs expanding before her breath breezed over her palm. The purple powder cascaded from her hand, whirled up in the soft breath Lydia exhaled, before finding a home in Riley’s lungs._

###

###

The hallway was flooded with students during the passing period between sixth and seventh hour. Their voices echoed like a chant within the back of Riley’s head, using it to fuel her mission as she stormed into the building dedicated to science and history. She didn’t have either of those classes next period, but she’d finally struck up the nerve to find Matt after going almost the whole day avoiding him.

She avoided him for numerous reasons, but mainly because she did not know how she’d keep her fist from finding his jaw once she saw his face. The second reason was because she wasn’t sure what actions she’d wanted to take regarding what he’d done. As Derek had pointed out last night, after Allison had left, she needed to go to the police. And as much as she was willing to, she wanted an explanation from him first.

Having a general idea of where his locker was located, Riley trailed the halls with a purposeful pace as she rounded the corner of the last hallway. She could see him in the distance, his features blocked by his locker door as he gathered his things for his next class. At just the bare sight of him, her fist tightened around the memory card in her hand, her mouth dry from the anger beginning to pulse rapidly beneath her skin.

He hadn’t heard her approach, still in the midst of replacing his Government textbook for his Biology as Riley leaned her shoulder against the row of lockers before his. And when he finally did shut the door to his locker, able to see her hovering close to him, Riley could have sworn she’d seen his face pale. _“H—hey.”_ He stammered.

Matt’s expression was caught of guard, but his eyes held a noticeably anxious glimmer. Riley had been so sure she’d hit him on arrival, but she found herself unusually calm. Her breathing coming in low and soft spurts as her lips creased upward at him. “Hey.” She said back, keeping her balled fists at her sides as she shuffled from one foot to the other. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She lied with ease, her features softening once the color seemed to return to his cheeks. “You were pretty drunk last night.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from his thinly pressed lips, scratching the back of his neck with an anxious hand. His camera bag was looped over his chest, hooking a rigid hand around it’s strap once he seemed to calm down. “Uh— _yeah._ ” He fumbled for the right words, his eyes planted on his sneakers as he dug the toe of his shoe into the tile. “I’m—I’m fine.”

Riley nodded, overly aware of her expression as she tried her damnedest to keep it composed. But even as he fought off the nervous jitter of his limbs, Riley could visibly see how not fine he really was. “You sure?” She asked innocently, pursing her plump lips as she took a step forward in his direction. They were a mere few feet apart, able to see the sheen of sweat collect along the base of his throat. “You seem a little on edge.”

Finding it nearly impossible not to toy with him, considering it helped keep her anger management in check, she took the opportunity to scrutinize him with a closer eye. Matt’s hands began to tremble, his chest tightening so much that it felt as if his heart were going to rupture right through his chest. And as wired as he felt, he thought her intentions were innocent.

He took a deep and prolonged breath to ease the tension in his muscles before allowing a smile to grace his lips. So unnerved by the fact that Riley Haven was even talking to him, he played down the anxiety coursing through his body so he’d seem maybe half as normal as he felt. “I’m just freaking out about a project due seventh hour.” He confessed shyly, holding his books closer to his chest. “It was on a memory card for my photography class, but I can’t find it.”

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, explaining his nervous behavior in hopes that she wouldn’t catch on to the fact that it was her that made him anxious to begin with. And as Matt stuttered through his explanation, she couldn’t help the look of surprise that ghosted over her face. How perfect was it that he’d brought it up first? It saved Riley the awkwardness of having to bridge the topic herself.

 _“Oh.”_ She nodded empathetically before her lips gently curved at their corners. Her arm rose then, holding up the memory card between two firmly gripped fingers. “Is that what this is?” She skimmed her eyes from the card to Matt, watching as his eyes seemed to sink into panic. “It has the initials MD written on it,” Riley then exclaimed, “but I didn’t think it stood for Matt Daehler.” Her voice remained innocent, playing into the game of deceit he’d dived into first.

He could feel the blood drain from his face, his fingers twitching with anticipation before he cleared the lodge in his throat with a single cough. “Thank God!” He huffed enthusiastically, trying to dissolve the fear in his expression with relief. His hand reached out to grab it from her, “You literally just saved my life!”

His reach was too close for Riley’s comfort, pulling her hand away before he could snatch it from her grasp. She engulfed it in her palm once more, hiding it from his eager hand before her soft features turned sour. Her eyes seemed to darken, narrowed at him with such unimaginable anger, her grin now forming into a scowl. His outstretched arm froze, his stomach sinking beneath the glare in her eyes. “Plea— _please give it back._ ” He demanded apprehensively, knowing he’d just been caught in his own web of lies.

Riley didn’t budge, but instead crossed her arms over her chest, ensuring the hand with the card was looped where he could not reach. “You know,” Riley’s voice was cold, her tone suggesting she knew what kind of ‘project’ he’d really been working on, “I think I’m going to hold on to it.” She insisted venomously.

Displeased with her attitude and afraid of what she knew, Matt barked back. “It’s private property.” Though he tried to make his voice sound tough, Riley could see his lips tremble.

“So is my apartment complex.” She reiterated accusingly with an angled brow.

She’d never seen someone so visibly shaken, worried that the vein in his forehead would combust if he didn’t get his memory card back. Matt Daehler’s eyes were wide and red, as if he were on the brink of tears. _“Please.”_   He said more firmly. “Just give it back.”

Riley stood before him, her features calculating for only a moment, giving him a sense of false belief that she would sympathize with him enough to hand it over. And when she could make out the hopefulness in his eyes, she shook her head. “I prefer to give it to the police.” She hissed in a low voice before turning on her heel as the warning bell rang.

“Wait!” Matt called after her, his feet sprinting to catch up to her pace. “Please!” He begged. “You don’t have to do that!” Turning back to face him with an incredulous stare, she tilted her head with confusion. “Look,” he continued, his eyes scanning the hallway as the the crowd of students began to thin out, “I can—I can pay you.” He proposed, reaching into his back wallet with trembling hands. He pulled out a fifty dollar bill and a few ones, “This—this is all I have,” he stuttered, “but I can get more! Just tell me how much—“

“I don’t want your money.” Riley huffed angrily. “I just want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

###

###

The Stilinski’s home felt warmer than usual as Riley sat at Stiles’ desk. He twisted in his rolling chair beside her, a side effect from his dosage of aderall. He was bent over a yearbook, flipping through the pages after studying each one closely. If he’d put this much effort into his school work, perhaps he wouldn’t be averaging a ‘C’ in Economics. But never the less, he’d felt tempted to investigate the people who had been murdered these past few weeks.

There had been another one this morning, from what Stiles had overheard from his dad. Another body found in the woods, torn into pieces just like all of the other ‘animal attacks’. He’d seen how stressed his father had become recently over these deaths, feeling as if he needed to lighten the load of his fathers troubles, by shouldering it himself.

Having found out another interesting detail about the people murdered, they’d all had something strange in common. “They were all twenty—four years old.” Stiles murmured, mostly to himself, as he gnawed at the end cap of his pen. It’s what lead him to checkout the two—thousand—and—six yearbook from Beacon Hills High School’s library. They all would have graduated in the same class, which lead Stiles to assume the possibility of their killer being connected to them all in some, strange way. “There has so to be a pattern, ya know?” He mentioned with a conflicted tone. “That can’t just be a coincidence.”

Stiles glanced to Riley then, who seemed to be zoned out as she leaned back stiffly within her chair. Her thumb clicked her pen mechanically, the sound becoming more alarming the longer he watched her blank stare. Her eyes were transfixed on the memory card on the desk, splayed upon her notebook as if to taunt her. “Are you going to tell my dad?” His voice lightened, waiting patiently for her to zone back into the present.

Riley squared her jaw, pursing her lips indecisively before straightening her posture. She’d come here with the intentions of telling Sheriff Stilinski what Matt had done, but still found it disconcerting that she hadn’t figured out what she wanted to do yet. On one side, Matt was still just a kid. Perhaps a little unnerving and too curious for his own good, but Riley couldn’t help but wonder what the police would do to him.

That said a lot about her character, sympathizing with someone who had done her wrong.

It took a second for her to respond, shrugging her shoulders indifferently. “I think you should.” Stiles commented, unable to fathom the audacity Matt Daehler had to take those kinds of photos in the first place. If Stiles was being honest, he hadn’t liked the kid since seventh grade. Of course he had no real reason as to why, but he liked to believe he had a good sense of determining the character of certain people.

She nodded, but did not confirm vocally on if that was her plan or not. She took the opportunity to change the subject then, deciding that the topic of their discussion was still too raw of a wound to discuss. “Is Scott still going to Lydia’s birthday party tonight?” She asked with a furrowed brow. “It’s a full moon.”

Stiles paused his investigation, looking to her with a confirmed stare. “He thinks Jackson will be there.”

Riley anxiously fiddled with her dainty, pearl ring upon her index finger, taking into consideration just how much of a blood bath tonight could turn into again if they did not tread carefully. And as she thought of the full moon, her mind shifted to Derek and how he’d be fairing tonight to keep Boyd, Erica and Isaac in check. _It couldn’t be easy,_ she determined silently, _to keep three rampant werewolves from killing each other._

And then her mind came back to Scott, not having seen him at school today since he’d taken the day off to fully heal. Allison’s mother had done a number on him, having taken almost every measure to ensure he’d never see her daughter again. The Argent’s were extremely protective of the people they loved and despite the coldness of Victoria Argent, she was no exception.

There was a slight knock on Stiles’ door then, his father opening it just a crack. “Remember what we talked about?” The Sheriff mentioned casually before leaning into the doorway. _“Door stays open.”_ He hinted, though his rule only ever applied when Stiles had a girl over . . . Which was almost always never, except for Riley. The freckle—faced teen’s skin began to flush then, rolling his eyes with an embarrassed glare. “What are you two up to?” He asked then, peering over Riley’s shoulder at the books splayed across his son’s desk.

“Homework.” Stiles concluded without hesitation.

That answer would have sufficed at any other time, but John found it suspicious. Considering it was a Friday afternoon and there was no school the upcoming week. “It’s spring break.” His dad noted curiously, inching closer to get a better look at what they were truly up to. He balanced his hands on the back of Riley’s chair, closing his eyes for a moment once he could see the detailed notes scribbled across his notebook. “Oh, hell Stiles.” His dad sighed. “Can’t you give it a rest already?”

His notes consisted of the comparisons between each autopsy of the recent murders, their similar ages, and poorly drawn doodles showcasing each ligature mark on their bodies. “Just satisfying my own curiosity.” Stiles bluntly promised before continuing to skim through the pages of the worn out yearbook.

John did not feel satisfied with his son’s response, but chose to let it go. He knew better than to try an thwart Stiles’ attempt at solving his cases for him. “Well don’t get too invested,” John mentioned before patting Riley’s shoulder, “dinner will be ready in ten.”

It was an open invitation for Riley too, because John truly thought she was a great friend and studious Junior, though he was still on the fence about her age. It was almost unheard of to see a child go through their last two years of school alone. He’d pulled up her mother’s police report months ago once his son had first brought her over, still unable to comprehend her ability to pack up and move on after having just lost her in November.

John had lost his wife nearly six years ago and he was nowhere near moving on.

He turned then, heading back for the door before Stiles spoke up. “Hey!” He audibly demanded. “Dad!” Riley shifted closer to Stiles and his father hovered over them again. Stiles’ eyes were glued to the yearbook page, his nimble hands trembling as they grazed over the black and white photo of the swim team. “I think I just found the pattern.” He breathed hastily.

Upon the photo of the two—thousand—and—six Beacon Hills High swim team were six students; Camden Lahey, Jessica Bartlett, Sean Long, Tucker Cornish, Kara Simmons and T.J. Cannon. Able to feel the tension gather in the room as they studied the familiar faces of four of the victims. John Stilinski yanked the yearbook from his sons hands, his inquisitive eyes nearly bulging from his head.

He couldn’t believe it. Having spent hours upon hours on this case, the common factor between these strings of murderers was right in front of his face. “The only person who wasn’t murdered was Jessica.” John insinuated with a grave voice. “That could be the next victim.” He burned the girls name into his memory, knowing that he’d call to have a protective detail for the girl.

“And Camden.” Stiles murmured with a gulp. The name was familiar, having heard Isaac mention it once or twice. “He died in Afghanistan this past summer.”

An active duty soldier who’d given his life to protect his country, but Riley couldn’t help but wonder if the Kanima would have ever gotten to him if he’d ever made it home. “Stiles?” John asked then, his breath shaken. He placed the book back down before Riley and his son. “Look at the swim coach.”

Riley’s eyes shifted to the man standing at the end of the frame. He was draped in a track suit embroidered with the school’s name, a clipboard in his hand and a smile on his face. He was older, his features lined with wrinkles as Riley glanced down at the names beneath the picture. _Mr. Lahey. Isaac's father, who he had been blamed on murdering just a short month prior._

###

###

The vibe emanating from Lydia Martin’s house as Riley and Stiles trailed up the driveway was carefully constructed. The red—head was known for throwing the best parties, having spent the last two weeks planning her own birthday, right down to the archway of balloons leading inside. It was a surprising sight to see the neighborhood block flooded with cars, having thought the teenage population would surely cast out Lydia after the last few months of her strange behavior.

It had all started after Peter’s bite. She hadn’t turned, but it was as if it still affected her somehow.

Stiles juggled an awfully wrapped present in his hands as they entered Lydia’s house. It was just as immaculate as Riley would have thought. Something you’d see straight out of an interior decorating magazine. The arched entryways and vaulted ceilings were classic for such a modern home. She bypassed a group of kids sitting on the staircase, a bottle of beer in each of their hands as Stiles disappeared to offer Lydia his gift and find Scott.

The music blared from the speakers of the flatscreen in the living room, teens spaced out almost shoulder to shoulder. The claustrophobic feeling began to muster in her muscles, trying not to panic as she squeezed through kid after kid to be able to breathe easily again. The kitchen was just as richly decorated, skimming her hand over the marble counter top as she headed for the sliding glass door.

It was left open as guests traveled in and out freely, surprised to see almost triple the amount of people that gathered in her backyard. Her pool was crystal clear, too cold to have used, which is why everyone avoided it completely. Beneath the patio was a table full of refreshments, bypassing it entirely before bumping shoulders with a red—head gliding out the back door.

Lydia was done up more than Riley had ever seen. Her hair was curled into voluminous ringlets, the shadow on her lids blended out softly and dark. As for her dress . . . it clung to her body fittingly, a navy blue number the left little to the imagination. “Happy Birthday.” Riley said instinctively with a smile, reaching into her back pocket to retrieve the envelope with the gift card to the coffee bar she worked at.

Her friend took it with smirk, almost as if she hadn’t expected anything to begin with. And after she took the card, she placed a glass of spiked punch into Riley’s empty hand. Lydia didn’t say thank you, but instead, gave her a knowing look that indicated she was thankful. She walked off then, her heels clicking against the cement as she openly hosted her own party.

Glancing down at the glass in her hands, Riley pursed her lips as she swirled the contents inside gently. It’s light purple tint seemed appetizing if it weren’t for the fact that Riley hadn’t drank in almost five months. Not since the night she’d come home drunk and found her mother. Ever since then, the thought of alcohol made her want to vomit.

She placed the glass down on the food table before wandering off. She could distinctly hear the spastic voice of her best friend, turning around the corner of the pool to see Scott and Stiles seated in a pair of folded out lawn chairs. Taking a seat at Scott’s feet, she appraised his calm demeanor silently before glancing back up at the full moon. “Have you seen Jackson yet?” She asked, before both of her friends shifted their heads toward the opposite side of the yard.

He was there, planted beside Danny with a flask of his own concoction of liquor. He seemed rather carefree for having just murderer another person just earlier this morning. From the heaviness of Scott’s shoulders, Riley could tell Stiles had told him about their findings. He felt the incessant need to keep an eye on the Kanima tonight.

But Jackson wasn’t the only one needing to be watched over, feeling a tightness form in her gut as she heard Lydia Martin’s laugh from a few feet over as she entertained her guests. “Oh,” Stiles hummed rather directly, “I know that look.” He insisted as he nudged Riley. He could see the concern lace within her stare as she watched her friend. It was the same look of worry he’d seen fill her expression when she’d spoken of her precognition. “What did you see?”

He was quick to catch on, though his assumptions were always just a tad bit black and white.

Riley glanced down at her interlocked hands before looking at the dewy blades of grass beneath her boots. “I saw Lydia.” She exclaimed. “And she had wolfsbane.”

Scott’s eyes widened at her confession, especially panicked due to the full moon hovering above them. Lydia didn’t know much about the supernatural world, so what good would the flower due to her? With a simple nod of his head, it was all the clarification she needed to know that Scott believed her. That he wouldn’t overlook the things she’d seen, just because they weren’t actuality yet. He believed her, mostly because he believed Deaton.

Riley stood then, hoping to get a better angle on Lydia as she began to roam the party again. Always keeping a calculative distance, she kept her friend in the peripheral of her vision at all times. It was a length she was willing to go to keep people safe. Its what she had to do, because she felt as if no one else, besides Scott, would. And even if she couldn't fight off the monsters like he could, she could do something.

As she walked the perimeter of the party, she felt tempted to text Derek. She hadn’t spoken to him since last night, knowing just how busy he’d be today in preparation for the full moon. But she kept her arms crossed over her chest, making a lap around the pool for what felt like the tenth time.

People her age would have killed to attend a party like the one Lydia was throwing, but Riley found that she could not get into the spirit, not matter how bad she’d wished she could. It was as if she’d been trapped in this funk for quite some time now. Always feeling as if she were on the brink of a panic attack, when it was really just the anxiety of knowing that something was always lurking in the shadows.

Something was always brewing in their small town it seemed. Something worse was always around the corner. Perhaps it was just _this_ town that drew in the darkness. Despite having not known about the supernatural back in San Diego, Riley had never thought that creatures walked among her. It just felt too nightmarish to comprehend. Even now, it still never felt quite real.

Breaking away from her laps around the pool. Riley kept a leisured pace as she began to walk back up the sidewalk toward the patio. It was then that she saw a boy approaching her timidly, his palms facing her as if he were surrendering. “I just want to talk.” Matt said, his brown hair combed back instead of hanging over his blue eyes.

Riley’s body stiffened, clenching her jaw so incredibly tight at just the sight of him. She’d felt sorry for even considering snitching on him earlier, but now as she looked at him, face to face, she wondered why she even felt like that at all. He’d taken advantage of his skilled camera work. He’d scaled a twenty foot tree just to peep on her. He’d taken photos of her shirtless. He knew what he’d been doing was wrong . . . And a part of Riley believed he hadn’t cared.

But she agreed without speaking to him directly, turning her back on him before leading him to a quiet corner of the backyard. It was near Lydia’s fire pit, blazing and nipping at the chilled night air as she finally turned to face him. He’d spent the past afternoon thinking about what he’d say to her, and as he faced her now, he found it hard to form a coherent enough sentence. “I know what i did to you was wrong.” Matt confessed finally.

Riley turned up her chin, narrowing her eyes. “Then why did you do it?” She demanded.

He seemed to lose sight of the truth he wanted to speak, searching for an explanation that would make sense to someone outside of his head. “I—“ He began to say, “I like you, Riley.” His cheeks flushed as he looked down at his shoes. “I’ve liked you since that first day of English and—and I’ve always been just so afraid to talk to you.” His expression was pained, as if it hurt him to speak. “You’re just so,” he waived his hand at her, though his eyes only raised to linger on her chest for half a second, _“beautiful.”_

Able to feel the bile rise into her throat at his compliment, she choked it down once she recognized something extremely vital. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.” She hinted with a hiss of her voice.

“They’re just candids.” Matt tried to defend himself.

 _“Yeah?”_ Riley scoffed. “I think the police call it stalking.”

She couldn’t understand why she’d allowed herself to hear him out, because it only seemed to frustrate her more and more as she heard him speak. “Listen,” Matt took a step forward, blocking her from stepping around him as she tried to make an escape. “Most girls would be flattered.” He stated, causing Riley to halt in her steps. “I just—I just think you should give me a chance.” Matt proposed. “You’re overreacting.”

The audacity and entitlement that Matt Daehler felt is what truly shook her. To have stalked her for four months and still demand her attention as if it were her in the wrong. _“Im overreacting?”_ Riley repeated his words with a shocked laugh, shaking her head to rid the urge to break his teeth. _“I should give you a chance?”_ She huffed almost maniacally, a rupture of laughter bubbling from her lips in surprise. “Matt,” she stated firmly with a scowl, “you are pathetic.”

She stepped around him then, freeing herself from the claustrophobic bubble he’d trapped her in. Not once had he admitted to an apology, just continuing to justify his actions because he’d liked her. Because he was too afraid to talk to her, because every girl he’d ever known had never given him the time of day. Buttering her up would not make her recant her accusation. He’d violated her comfort zone and had breached the boundaries of her own home. Matt Daehler deserved nothing from her.

Riley was already curving around the edge of the pool, in search for Scott or Stiles, before Matt decided to go after her again. He was so sure he could change her mind, because despite being the weird kid, he felt as if he had a lot to offer her. “Riley!” He called after her, catching up to her long strides. “Please!” He begged. “Just hold on for a sec—“ his words were cut short once his hand clasped around her wrist. It was an aggressive action meant to keep her anchored to him. To make her listen to all the reasons why he was still a good person.

But as soon as he touched her, she’d spun back around to face him. Riley’s hands clutched at the denim collar of his jacket before shoving him into the deep end of the pool. It was a better alternative than to break his nose, watching as his body smacked into the water. Their altercation had caused a scene, glancing around to find the curious eyes of her peers shift toward her.

And as soon as Matt broke through the surface of the pool with a gasp, a scream was lunging from his lips. “Help me!” His tone was piercing, his limbs splashing against the water in an attempt at keeping himself from sinking. “I can’t swim!” He screeched. “Help me!” She couldn’t help herself as she took a step back from the pools edge, almost too transfixed on his pleading cries, she couldn’t bring herself to help. In fact, nobody did. The kids all stayed in their places, their eyes flooded with concern, but made no attempt at bridging the distance.

Splashing against the surface of the water, Matt Daehler felt the water flood his lungs. The chilled pool causing him to shiver before a hand reached out to him from the ledge. He grasped it eagerly, clinging to their touch as if it were a safety net. Riley’s stomach coiled at the sight, watching as Jackson pulled a panting Matt from the frigid water.


	23. Sixteen

Riley fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket as she sat impatiently still inside Sheriff Stilinski’s office. Upon his leather couch, with both Scott and Stiles pacing along the floorboards before her. They were here mostly for moral support, keeping her company now that she planned to turn the memory card over to the police. They waited for John to return to his office now, becoming more and more anxious the longer Stiles’ father took wrapping up his previous case. She didn't worry about the charges Matt would face anymore, after last night, she could clearly see that he’d been trying to manipulate her into not going to the police. That he did it because he liked her, though stalking her for three months was a weird way of showing it. 

Her phone buzzed against her thigh then, reading a message from Derek as he ensured her she was doing the right thing. His encouragement was all it took to sit a bit straighter, more confident about her decision to press charges. He texted again, asking if he could pick her up after she got done filing her report. That he had something he needed to talk to her about. Riley’s lips turned up slightly, undeniably appreciative of his efforts when it came to their relationship . . . _If you could even call it that._ Riley was still unsure of what it was transpiring between them, so for now, she called it friendship. But just friends didn’t look at each other the way they did. Perhaps complicated was more of an accurate definition.

But she agreed, texting him back that she’d meet him outside the station in thirty minutes.

Maybe he’d want to discuss how the full moon with his Beta’s had gone. Besides the incident with Matt last night, it was all she could think about. The safety of Isaac, Erica and Boyd meant a great deal to her, knowing that once a month, their blood lust would heighten to uncontrollable amounts without enough concentrated resentment. It had taken Scott five months of learning how to swallow the wolf clawing up his throat. And even still, he sometimes had trouble keeping his tempered side at bay.

Her mind started to revert back to last night again as Scott and Stiles drifted into a small discussion off to her side. Riley couldn’t focus enough to join them, feeling a small chill weave beneath her skin at the memory of Matt breaking through the surface of the pool just the night before. His helpless gasps for breaths. His flailing limbs. The fear on his face each time his head sunk beneath the water.

How strange was it that he’d thought he’d been drowning, despite standing at five—nine in a six foot deep pool? It made her nauseous to remember, because she knew the feeling of drowning all too well. Riley could still feel the sensation of the water flooding her lungs, of how heavy it made her feel. How it had acted like an anchor as it tethered her to the bottom of the pool. And sometimes at night, when she slept safely in her own bed, she still felt the underlining fear of sinking.

Of all the people at Lydia’s party, it was Jackson who had stepped forward to pull Matt’s tense body from the pool. She couldn't help but find it unsettling, her mind raking for an explanation until she finally zoned back into Scott and Stiles’ conversation. They were speaking about the two—thousand—six swim team, analyzing each others theories until Riley disclosed one of her own. “The Kanima killed almost everyone on the swim team.” She said automatically, as if her thoughts were on autopilot.

The boys paused their discussion, looking at her intently. _“Yeah . . . “_ Stiles shrugged, “I just said that?”

Riley brushed him off, voicing her thoughts out loud as a way to connect them. “Deaton said that the fear of water might not be from Jackson himself, but from whoever is controlling him.” She looked up to Scott from her seated position on the couch. He could see it in her eyes then, that she was onto something. Her gaze traveled from him, to Stiles and back with a dreadful gleam. “You guys remember last night?” She asked, as if they could forget. “How terrified Matt was of drowning?”

A tension formed over them as they basked in the new theory, trying to make sense of it from Riley’s perspective. It took Stiles a second longer to grasp onto the idea, furrowing his brows with disbelief. “You think Matt, small, defenseless and cowardly Matt,” He shook his head, “is the all powerful Kanima master?”

Riley’s shoulder tugged gently, signifying her indecisive mind as she tallied up the coincidences in her head once more. “The bad guys aren’t always strong,” Scott hinted as he defended Riley’s theory, “they just have to be smart.”

Was it so far fetched that stiles couldn’t agree? Riley didn’t have time to elaborate further before John Stilinski opened the door to his office before shutting it behind him and taking a seat at his desk. “Hey, kiddo’s.” He said with a yawn. “Sorry it took so long, I was on the phone with Melissa.”

“My mom?” Scott stepped forward in surprise.

John nodded, his genuine smile suddenly sinking as he spoke. “There was another murder,” He mentioned after a deep breath, “the last one on the swim team, Jessica.” Riley remembered the name from the night before, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

Stiles spoke up, desperate for information as he looked to his father. “Torn apart?’’ He asked. “Like the others?”

But the Sheriff simply shook his head. “Strangled.” He said lowly, “In her Hospital bed after going into premature labor.” He rubbed his eyes then with the heel of his hand. “Her death doesn’t match the pattern. Melissa is sending over some security footage for me to go through.” He sat back in his seat then, his eyes on Riley. “What was it you wanted to talk about again?” He asked.

She fell unusually quiet, caught up in the news of another murder endorsed by whoever was controlling Jackson. To have killed a woman just shortly after the birth of their child seemed more heinous than Riley could comprehend. But why would Jackson strangle her? Why had he changed the strategy of these murders five bodies later? Riley’s report on Matt felt minuscule in comparison, able to see the underlying effects it had on John as he tried his best to solve this case.

“Dad,” Stiles spoke up, “you have to go through that footage.” He said hurriedly, rounding the desk to stand beside his father. “You have to look through that footage right now!”

He reached for his fathers laptop, but John slapped his sons hand away with an annoyed expression. “Cut it out.” He huffed, looking to the three kids incredulously. The expressions he saw on their faces paled, unable to determine the factor behind it, he looked to Scott for a clearer explanation. “What’s this about?”

Watching as Scott shuffled forward nervously, Riley found that she couldn’t keep her teeth from grinding against each other. “I think we might know who the killer is.” Scott answered candidly. “And if we see him on the security footage, we’ll know it’s him.”

 _“Him?”_ john rose a distinctive brow.

Riley exhaled a heavy lungful of air before speaking. _“Matt Daehler.”_

John narrowed his eyes at her, but made no effort to question their suspicions. Instead, he opened his laptop and shuffled uneasily once the three kids moved to hover over him. He pulled up his email, clicking the message Melissa McCall had sent to him before taking a moment to download the video file attached to it. He could feel their anxious breaths on the back of his neck, as if they already were so sure of this kid, _Matt_ , being involved. In all of his years in the police force, he’d never had a murder pinned on a child. A boy the same age as his own son did not fit the stereotypical serial killer, but then again, he knew that murderers did not have a specific age.

The video popped up on his screen then, fast forwarding it to an hour before Jessica had been murdered. Riley watched the black and white video come to life, her eyes scanning the hallway from the first angle of the camera as nurses sped back and forth between rooms during the lunch hour. John switched to a different camera feed, one from the nurses desk and waiting room as Riley inched closer with curious eyes.

Strangers roamed the halls freely, perhaps waiting to be seen or waiting on the news of someone they cared about. But nothing seemed suspicious. Nothing looked out of the ordinary until Riley saw a figure breeze past the nurses station and out of the camera’s view. “Can you go back?” Riley asked suddenly, her hand ghosting over John’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but rewinded the last minute of footage just to oblige her.

An average built man crossed the hallway, his hands buried in the deep pockets of his jacket.

But the feeling in Riley’s gut suggested the broadness of his shoulders seemed familiar, sharing a knowing look with Scott before he nodded to her assuringly. Scott reached over John then, tapping the screen with his index finger. “That’s him.” Scott said. “That’s Matt.”

“All I see is the back of someone’s head.” John argued in a reasonable tone.

Stiles chimed in. “Dad,” he spoke, “I sit behind Matt in Econ! He has a very distinct cranium.”

His father turned over his shoulder to eye him incredulously. He couldn’t make an I.D. based off his kids knowledge on the circumference of Matt Daehler’s head. John switched the camera angle again, this time to the camera facing the hall that the suspect had turned down, stopping when he could visibly see the man speaking with a passing nurse. It was Melissa, her smile genuine and kind as she pointed down the hall she’d just traveled from. Had she known who she’d been speaking with, perhaps she would not have looked too happy.

John paused the video then, his eyes creasing in the corners as he glared at the screen for a long minute before crossing his arms over his chest. “If Melissa can confirm it was Matt that she saw last night,” Stiles’ dad insisted, “I’ll have at least enough evidence to question him.” He looked to Scott then, a look suggesting that perhaps he should get his mother on the phone. If she came down to the station and could confirm the identity of the man, there could be some promise to Riley’s theory.

He looked to Stiles then, a slight nod of his head as he directed him to inform the deputy at the front desk to let Ms. McCall back into his office upon her arrival. Stiles did not hesitate, his limbs flailing as he turned quickly on his heel and through the office door. He disappeared then, leaving Riley uncomfortably still as she overheard Scott’s conversation with his mother, urging her to get to the station as soon as she could. By the confident expression laced over his face, Riley could only assume that she was on her way.

The memory card in Riley’s pocket felt heavy now as she purposefully kept quiet about it in favor for the bigger picture. If Matt was the one controlling the Kanima, that meant the deaths of five people were on his hands. If that were the case, Matt had more to answer for than just stalking.

John sat back in his chair, eying both Riley and Scott with a curious narrow of his bright blue eyes. _How had these kids known about Matt_ , he wondered. How had they theorized such an elaborate explanation? That was his job as the Sheriff, yet he seemed to find himself putting a lot of trust into a couple of teenagers. Trust was something he didn't have a lot of these days to begin with. He’d lost every ounce of it ever since the doctors at Beacon Memorial had told him they’d be able to cure his wife’s illness . . . _Yet she’d died._

A crash echoed from the lobby then, the sound ricocheting off the windows inside John’s office as everyone turned noticeably still. It was John who perked up first, standing from his chair timidly. His gun was in it’s holster, still attached to his Sheriff belt that was hung up on a coat rack beside his door. He hadn’t had time to grab it before the door to his office was suddenly shoved open, his son stumbling through with a panicked expression.

Riley stood in one brisk movement, inching closer to Scott’s side as someone trailed in after Stiles. They closed the door behind them, a flash of silver clutched firmly within their trembling hand. She watched as Stiles took a fearful stance beside his father, clearly shaken by the teenager wielding a gun. She hadn’t noticed until the barrel of the gun landed on her, that she’d been holding her breath, releasing it in an audible gasp.

The teenager took two steps forward, shifting the barrel of his gun back and forth between the four of them with glossy eyes, until Sheriff Stilinski held up two hands as a sign of peace. “Matt.” John said carefully to gain his attention. “It _is_ Matt, isn’t it?” He treaded carefully, moving slowly as he positioned himself between the gun and his son. “Whatever is going on,” John promised, “I can guarantee there is a solution that doesn’t involve a gun.”

Matt’s scowl seemed to lighten then, his lips creasing just the slightest bit out of surprise. Though his hand trembled, he did not lower his weapon. He felt rather confident now, a bold move for someone wielding a weapon in a station full of deputies. He’d taken care of them before hand, having willed Jackson to kill them in an attempt to overtake the station. His motives still remained unclear, but ever since last night, he’d had this lingering feeling that they’d be onto him sooner or later.

“It’s funny that you say that,” Matt insinuated between his chattering teeth, “because I don’t think you understand just how right you are.” He didn’t need to convince Riley, Scott and Stiles. They already knew of how easily Matt could kill them just by mindfully pulling the strings to his puppet, Jackson.

John took another step forward, hoping to bridge the distance between himself and Scott and Riley who idled on the other side of his desk. He wished to keep the three of them behind him, to act as a barrier between them and this ill—minded child, but Matt raised his gun a little higher, a sign that John should halt his advance. “You don’t want to hurt people.” John said, his tone light and fatherly as he tried to talk this child down.

At his words, Stiles couldn’t help but clench his teeth. He’d seen the bodies of the deputies in the lobby, he knew Matt would be willing to pull the trigger at any second. “Actually,” Matt Daehler proposed, “I wanna hurt a lot of people.” He mentioned manically. “And you four weren’t necessarily on my list, but I can be persuaded.” His eyes shifted to Scott then, who he could visibly see reaching for his cell phone in his back pocket. “I wouldn’t do that.” Matt instructed, pointing his gun toward the Werewolf. “That could definitely get someone hurt.”

Scott gulped down a thick lodge in his throat before nodding sincerely. He raised his hands where Matt could see them. “Phones.” Matt said then, waiving his gun towards the Sheriff’s desk. _“On the table.”_ The hesitancy in everyone made him ground his teeth, seeing the fear in their eyes induced by him. _“Now!”_

 

The rise in his tone made the four of them flinch, but it instilled a deeper fear of what would happen if they didn’t obey his orders. The sheriff was the first to reach for his phone, his movements slow and precise as he placed his phone on the top of his desk. He shifted his eyes nervously to the others, nodding gently to instruct them to follow through. And as Riley, Scott and Stiles reached into their pockets for their devices, he shifted his haze towards his gun belt, going over the odds of him reaching it in time before Matt could pull the trigger.

His odds were not good, and so he took a long and heavy breath to keep himself composed.

The hostility within Matt’s gaze seemed disturbing, as if he were willing to kill the rest of them without any sense of remorse. “Good.” He finally encouraged once the last phone was placed on the desk, taking a step back to asses his four hostages. He eyed them each individually, his stare lingering uncomfortably longer on Riley before shifting to John. “I want all of the evidence deleted.” He snarled then, his lips curling as he nodded his head towards John’s laptop.

Riley shifted her watery eyes toward the Sheriff, shuffling nervously between them and Matt as he nodded his head. “If that’s what it will take.” John agreed. His years of dedicated police work had trained him for hostage situations. It was easier to abide by their demands than it was to verbally work things out. And with the hostages being kids, he would have given anything for Matt to put the gun down.

He kept his hands up, still visible to Matt, as he took a seat at his desk, waiting for the gunman’s nod of approval before resting his fingers against the keyboard. Matt hovered close by, keeping an eye on John’s actions as he watched him load file after file into the trash bin on his Mac. “And the reports,” he sneered, “I want every last one of them shredded.”

It was Stiles who moved now, reaching for the case file on his fathers desk before backtracking towards the paper shredder. It buzzed to life once he began to feed the paper through, biting his tongue at watching every last shred of evidence disappear.

Keeping the Stilinski’s within his peripheral, he allowed the barrel of his gun to land on Riley. He left it there, tilting his head in deep concentration. He knew her motives here had been to turn him in, and for a second, he debated putting a bullet between those beautiful hazel eyes of hers. Riley felt paralyzed beneath his stare, afraid to shift an inch in fear that his finger would graze the trigger. “I want the memory card.” He demanded finally.

His voice carried through to her ears, but she was still too stunned to move. Her hands quivered at her sides, gnashing her teeth together so incredibly hard, she was sure she’d break her jaw. And when she found that she could not move, his tone became more aggressive. “I want,” he huffed more clearly, _more guttural_ , “the memory card.”

His hand shifted suddenly as he gripped the barrel of the pistol and cocked it back before directing it back at her. It was a menacing sound, a threatening gesture to instill fear. Her knees buckled at the sound, her eyes welling, threatening to spill over as she shifted her eyes to John. He looked back to her frantically, his nod of encouragement slow as she finally felt the heaviness in her arms subside.

She reached into her back pocket to retrieve it, shoving it into his awaiting hand. When her hand touched his, Matt found that he could not help himself as his fingers latched around hers. He held them there, his eyes seeming to darken as he rubbed his thumb over the palm of her hand. It felt violating to Riley, to be held within his touch as if it were a kind gesture. “See?” Matt whispered sympathetically. “That’s all you had to do.”

He let her hand go then, insinuating that perhaps those deputies would still be alive if she had just given it to him in the first place. Unlike the rest of the evidence, Matt did not destroy the memory card, but instead, shifted it into his own pocket for safe keeping. He turned back to the Sheriff then, who raised his hands as a sign to indicate all of the files on his laptop had been erased, just as Stiles fed the last paper through the shredder. “On your feet.” Matt instructed then, his gun landing on John.

The Sheriff rose carefully as Matt opened the door to the office, a sigh of relief filling Riley’s lungs as she thought he’d be releasing them. Instead, he herded them out into the hall, following behind them as he kept the gun aimed on their backs as they began to trail towards the back of the station. It was where the cells were, corralling them until they reached the back room.

He became more assertive then, fisting the collar of John’s shirt as he thrusted him forward inside of the cell, slamming the door shut on only the Sheriff. “Listen to me, Matt.” John calmly pled. His hand fisted around the cell bars, eyeing the children on the opposite side of the cage. They stood before Matt, still in his captivity as he tried to reason with him. “Whatever it is that you need,” he assured, “I can get it for you. Just let the kids go.”

Matt’s gun was still aimed of the herd of teens, but his lips pulled back over his teeth in a maniacal laugh. He looked from Scott to John and back again. “He has really no idea, does he?” He laughed, leaving John perplexed as his hand fell on Stiles’ shoulder and heaved him back into the hallway. Of course the Sheriff didn’t know the truth, because the supernatural world hadn’t wheeled him in quite yet . . . And if it was up to Riley, she wished that it never would.

She was wedged between her two friends, her body rippling with anxiety as they left John stranded in the cell. They rounded down the opposite hall, still unsure of what else Matt could possibly want to be still playing this game. This game that included intimidating the three of them, instilling a fear so immense that it caused them to radiate with heat like an untamed furnace. And all she could do was keep her mouth shut as they continued forward, treading the words that wanted to spill from her lips, hoping no one else would die as a result.

Matt looped them back around the building toward the lobby, feeling the uneasiness drift between the silence that hung over them. It was too quiet, knowing the deputies who should have been hard at work were now just bodies to grieve. And as they looped through the archway of the offices, Riley could see them splayed along the tiled floors.

She shut her eyes to it, gripping Scott’s hand instead as he lead them through the carnage first. Perhaps this was a tactic Matt was using, trying to ensure they saw what he was capable of, and how he wouldn’t think twice about adding them to his murderous spree.

Keeping her head down wasn’t enough though, still able to see the puddles of blood pooling in her peripherals as they narrowly stepped over the deceased. Her hand that gripped onto Scott’s trembled, but upon further inspection, she found that it was him who was quaking at the sight. He’d tried so undeniably hard to protect these people, yet he found that he struggled to think of a plan to get everyone out of this situation safely. It felt as if he’d failed them as he carefully hurdled over the last bloody, guiding them back to the front reception as Matt kept his gun firmly set on the three of them.

A rapid jolt of surprise weaved down Riley’s spine as a frantic knock sounded on the front door of the station. They paused their advance, their eyes widening before glancing back at Matt. He kept his gun firmly set on them, though his expression remained nervous as he eyed the door with strategic eyes. He’d put the station on lockdown once he’d sent Jackson on his murderous rampage.

For a moment, Riley felt Scott’s hand stiffen within hers. Perhaps it was his mother arriving to place a positive I.D. on Matt. He couldn’t fathom what he’d do to her if was, but the quick pulse of the heart the idled on the other side of the door did not sound like Melissa’s. Matt took a step back then, his hand shaking only slightly as he waived it forward, signaling Scott to open it. He released her hand then, taking small and measurable steps forward as four quick raps against the door sounded again. He gulped thickly, able to identify the scent of the person who lurked on the other side, hoping their presence was what would save them.

He looped his fingers around the deadbolt before ghosting his hand over the handle. He turned it with hesitancy, pushing the door open as Derek Hale narrowed his eyes at him in confusion. But then his gaze landed on Riley over Scott’s shoulder, finding the wetness settling within her eyes. His nostrils flared at the scent of blood, rustic and salty, but it was not hers. _It was not any of theirs_.

But he’d smelt it from the parking lot, having waited to pick her up like they had planned. But she’d never returned his texts, having then decided to investigate further.

There was a fear in their eyes that suggested something wasn't right, taking a step into the lobby, he was able to see why. Off to the side was a child. _A kid_. His stature was unsure, though the way he wielded a gun suggested he would not hesitate to pull the trigger. Derek’s initial reaction was to stop, his soft hands turning rigid at the sight. Surely he couldn’t be responsible for all of this . . . Not a scrawny Sophomore with insecurity issues.

This kid was the one who had taken the  photos of Riley. The one who had crossed private property and personal boundaries for his own gain. What had been his true intentions with those photos? Gulping down the acid attached to the answer, he decided it may have been better if he did not know.

A heavy weight of obligation seemed to balance on his shoulders as Matt raised the gun in his direction, pulling the trigger as a way to dissuade Derek’s attempt at persuading him to let them go. The _pop_ sounded with an intensity that ricocheted off the windows as Riley’s lungs seemed to collapse into her stomach from it’s echo. But Derek’s senses were far more advanced then a humans, his abilities heightened from decades of practice. He could see the bullet aimed at him, reacting in a quick side step of his feet as the bullet sped over his shoulder and into the wall behind him.

It was then that he knew that this wasn’t just about outsmarting a teenager . . . It was about surviving their wrath.

Derek couldn’t contain the impulsive nature of the beast clawing up his throat. The echo of the gun fueling his rampant lurch forward as he snapped his pointed teeth in Matt’s direction. The kid fumbled with the gun again as Derek’s glowing blue eyes narrowed at him, taking four quick leaps forward until the Werewolve’s claws clenched the collar of his shirt. Derek snarled as he threw Matt back against the wall, the gun still violently clutched within his shaking palms.

But his impulsive nature to fight back was short lived, feeling a sharp heat gather at the back of his neck as Derek’s knees stumbled back twice before giving out. His body felt helplessly still, rendered useless by the toxic venom from the half—shifted Kanima idling behind him. Matt had beckoned Jackson to them with only a single thought. He’d only intended to use Jackson as a back up plan, but as Matt straightened himself back up, a livid pulse of rage itching beneath his skin, all he could think about was wanting Derek dead.

And Jackson, who remained loyal and tethered to each of Matt’s demands, obliged.

Derek was sprawled across the lobby floor, unable to move his limbs as Jackson hovered over him with lethal and sharp claws. He raised his arm, covered in bluish—green scales, as if he were going to slash Derek’s throat. _“Stop!”_ Riley wailed then, breaking out from behind Scott’s protective stance over her. She stumbled forward, shaking off Stiles’ hand to hold her back as she looked to Matt with pleading eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t enough to save Derek, but Jackson did pause his arm mid strike. “Please, Matt.” She begged, her tone breathless and wild. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” She urged him. “You got what you wanted,” Riley reminded, “we deleted all of the files and destroyed all of the evidence. Just let us go.”

Her stance was defensively positioned between Matt and Derek, her palms up, facing him with the hopes that he’d take it as a surrender. But he wanted more than that, she could see it in the twisted gleam of his eyes. Matt Daehler wanted more. “Get me the book,” he said evenly and dark, “and then we’ll talk.”

“The book?” Stiles wondered, taking a small step forward, only to stumble back when the gun landed on him. _“What book?”_

Matt huffed, as if it were so obvious. “I want the Bestiary.”

Riley looked over her shoulder cautiously, finding Scott’s clouded eyes as they shared a knowing look. “It’s Allison’s grandfathers. “ Scott said after a moment. “It’s not ours to give.”

A maniacal chuckle sounded from Matt’s throat as he lowered his gun, stroking it’s barrel with intimidating eyes. “Your friends lives depend on it.” He said to Scott. “Make it happen.” His insinuation depicted the threat of what he’d do to them if he didn’t get it in his hands by the end of the night. His reasonings for needing it were still unclear, but he hoped that somewhere within the pages of the Bestiary there would be answers to his questions.

Riley’s eyes shifted to the half turned Kanima, able to see Jackson’s features beneath the scales. His eyes were still his, though void of any emotion, like a puppet. But Jackson was still in there, pushed aside within the deepest corners of his own mind, but he was still there. He had to be. And Jackson could feel her eyes on him, shifting his gaze to hers without a shred of remorse gleaming within the brilliant oceanic hue of his eyes. If Matt didn’t get the book, she couldn't even fathom in what ways he’d make Jackson tear them apart.

A beam of headlights flashed among the windows then, an indication that someone had arrived. Her gaze fell from Jackson to Scott, knowing this time that it had to of been his mother. Matt took notice of the exchange, straightening his frame once they could hear the faint knock of the door from the second entrance. It was mainly used for deputies, but his mother must have began to grow impatient as her fist rapped against the glass for the third time.

Matt slowly nodded his head at Jackson, a mindful instruction for him to scope out the intruder and eliminate them. But it was Scott who lurched forward once Jackson turned his back to head down the hall, a plea within his tone as he confessed. “It’s my mom.” He huffed in a panicked whisper. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flamed.

“Do as I say and I won’t hurt her.” Matt instructed, his tone laced with venom. “I won’t even let Jackson anywhere near her.”

Despite the look of honesty in Matt’s features, Scott could detect the faintest murmur of his heart. A clear sign that he had no intention of keeping his promise. The knock sounded again from the side entrance as Matt beckoned Scott forward with a waive of his gun, aiming to lead him toward it with the intentions of letting Melissa McCall in. He couldn't just let her leave, knowing her suspicions as to why the station was on lockdown would only ruin his chances of getting what he truly needed.

Before Matt could turn his back to follow Scott, he shifted his hand to beckon Riley forward. “You too.” He instructed firmly. “Let’s go.”

She felt frozen in her stance beside Stiles, feeling safer the more distance she had between her and Matt. Despite the gun aimed on her, she found that she could not willingly take a step in his direction. He saw the clear hesitation on her face, clenching his teeth at the sight as he nodded his head to Jackson with a silent order. The Kanima stepped forward, raising it’s clawed hand to the back of Stiles’ neck. With a single swipe, Stiles felt the familiar toxin weave down the length of his spine. _“You bitch.”_ He scoffed at the Kanima Master, stumbling forward until his limbs fell into a limp pile at Derek’s side.

“If that’s not enough of an incentive,” Matt warned once her stance still did not budge, “I’ll just have to kill one of them.” His gun landed on the two men at their feet, earning a snarl from Derek Hale’s mouth. He could see the visible wetness gather in her eyes at his threat, her gaze falling on the werewolf with wide hazel eyes. “And I have a feeling you don’t want it to be him.” Matt gathered, nudging Derek’s limp legs with the toe of his shoe.

It was impossible for him to miss the way they looked at each other, _they way he wished she’d look at him_. At Matt’s threat she seemed to come alive again, her feet propelling her forwards faster than she could process the movement. As if she were somehow giving herself up to save their lives. That’s what it felt like anyway once she followed Scott back through the door to the hallway, feeling the closeness of Matt’s body as he walked behind her, his heavy breath nearly wrapping around her neck like a chokehold.

She did not look back at Derek or Stiles, knowing their expressions would be more difficult to swallow than their paralysis.

The tension emanating from Matt felt more threatening now, sealed in too tightly within the narrow hallway they weaved through. His hostility seemed to get the better of him as Riley felt the barrel of his gun against the small of her back. “You have horrible taste in men.” He commented, feeling his gut coil at the thought of her with some kind of monster like Derek Hale. But Matt Daehler was worse than him in Riley’s eyes. He was a monster made of flesh, while Derek had learned to swallow his own demons whole.

She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from spewing back an insult, hoping that if she kept quiet, he’d keep his finger off the trigger. Riley truly believed that Matt would have pulled it any given moment. His mind had been clouded with so much anger and vengeance that he couldn’t properly see the aftermath of his actions.

Scott paused then before the door to the side entrance, the one his mother idle behind at that very moment. Melissa had no idea how safer she was out there, and with pleading eyes Scott turned back to look at Matt. “She doesn’t need to get involved.” He whispered, his voice giving out in such a torn manner.

The menace before them was already shaking his head. “Open the door.” He instructed flatly. Despite his demand, Scott remained frozen with hesitancy. And once Matt could see the rebellion glimmer in the Beta’s eyes, knowing he may strike in retaliation, Matt’s arm encircled around Riley’s shoulders, clutching her to his chest before jamming the barrel of his gun to her temple. “Do I have to remind you what’s at stake here?” He seethed, his voice an octave higher than Riley’s distinct whimper.

His forearm was so tightly pressed against her throat, that Riley raised her arms to clutch his wrist, hoping to alleviate the pressure. Matt inclined his head towards the door again, his index finger idling over the trigger for maximum effect, hoping Scott would take the hint. With a trembling hand, Scott gripped the door handle and twisted it open. Matt’s hold on Riley did not falter despite the Beta abiding by his rules.

 _“Mom.”_ Scott said in a weak voice. “Please don’t freak out.”

Melissa stepped inside with a confused expression, her hands gripping the purse strap strewn over her shoulder. It wasn’t until her son locked the door behind her that she turned to see Riley Haven held hostage. Her clear complexion seemed to crease in fear at the sight, taking an involuntary step back as Scott placed himself between Matt and his mother.

And all the while, Riley’s body emanated with terror at feeling Matt’s hand shift from her shoulder to her chest. It lazily rested a few inches above her breast, and perhaps he hadn’t even noticed it himself. But he could feel her heart thud rapidly beneath his palm, his psychopathic mind wondering what it would feel like to hold it in his hands.

Scott could easily sense the frustration spilling from Riley like an overflowing sink. He could see the way Matt’s hands on her made her squirm. How it made her skin itch. “You can let her go now.” Scott instructed timidly, suggesting it as if the option were up to him. His assertive nature caused Matt’s eyes to narrow into slits, as if the Werewolf before him were gearing up for a fight. In Matt’s opinion, it was one Scott would not win. Not when he still had total control over the Kanima.

“I don’t know.” Matt said then, pressing the barrel of the gun deeper into Riley’s hairline. She flinched, clenching her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to see Scott and his mother’s faces whenever Matt decided to pull the trigger. A part of her didn’t think he’d have the courage . . . But another part of her wished to never find out. “Her and I make a pretty good pair, don’t you think?” He demanded, the vein within his forehead pulsating beneath his fair skin.

His hand slithered from around her shoulders to clench her jaw, squeezing her cheeks together as if to show her off to the boy standing across from them. Melissa could see the desperation in Riley’s eyes, gleaming with fresh tears as she was wrapped up helplessly in Matt’s arms. “So,” Scott breathed, his tone evenly coated as if he was so sure he could talk Matt down, “that’s it then?” He murmured, his dark green, flannel shirt straining against his rigid muscles. “If you can’t have her no one can?”

Echoing adamantly in the silence that followed after Scott’s statement, Riley could physically feel the tension shift. Matt Daehler had obsessed over this girl for three months, and here she was finally close enough for him to touch. Close enough for him to breathe in the fresh scent of her lavender body wash. Close enough to feel the tangle of her luscious brunette locks weave between his fist. Close enough to feel the curve of her back nestle against his hip. He’d dreamt about this moment for so long that the reality of it hadn’t brought it justice. And Scott’s words settled beneath his flesh like salt within an open wound. Riley Haven wasn’t his . . . Not even close. “You’re right.” Matt agreed with a timid nod of his head.

His gun lowered from Riley’s head then, his arm outstretched towards the Werewolf before he pulled the trigger.

There was no hesitation in his action or regret within his eyes as the bullet lodged itself into Scott’s stomach. And all Riley could see was red. All she could hear was the sob of Scott’s mother. All she could feel was Matt’s lips at her ear. “You should probably go find your friends.” He whispered, shoving her body forward with a harsh jab.

Stumbling forward, she found that she could not bring herself to flee. Scott’s hands clutched his abdomen, his palms red. He was breathing heavily now, doubled over against the pain throbbing against his ribs. It felt like every nerve ending being sifted through a shredder. Like burning alive from the inside out. “You and I,” Matt sneered at Scott as he hovered over him, “have a lot to talk about.” His gun did not lower, but his eyes turned to glare at Riley once he found that she did not obey him. “Unless you want this next bullet to be in his head. “ Matt huffed angrily in her direction, as if he were more disappointed with the outcome of this than she was.

His threat was all too promising, so with one painfully long glance at Melissa, Riley turned her back and ran.

Coursing down the hallway leading back towards the front of the station, her heart palpitating painfully against her lungs as she fought to catch her breath. Taking a short cut across the lobby, she found herself barreling over the bodies as if they were hurdles. As if their cheeks hadn’t been flushed an hour ago. As if their blood hadn’t finally run cold. They weren’t just hurdles for her to leap over, they were corpses bound in grief.

It caused her feet to sprint faster, feeling as though she could never quite out run the eyes she felt on the back of her neck. Or the echo of the gun as it stalked her down the hallway, busting through door after door just to escape it’s sound. And each time she looked down at her feet, gliding over the tile in desperate leaps, she could see Scott McCall’s blood splattered on her shoes, her stomach lurching into her throat each time the crimson color glimmered beneath the overhead light.

Lost within the maze of the station, feeling as if every turn lead her further and further from where she wanted to be. From where she felt safe. Despite Derek’s inability to protect her, it was at his side that she wished to be. More so for his sake, hoping that whatever happened, she could be the one to protect him and Stiles both.

Her gasps for air seemed to ring in her own ears, fighting the burn developing within her legs as if it would keep her motivated to keep going. And she was prepared to, heaving through another door before the electricity within the station seemed to be cut. Riley was basked in darkness, skidding to a violent halt as her knees gave out beneath her. Doubling over against the tiles at her feet, she took a moment to catch her breath before the sound of two familiar _pops_ from a gun shattered the silence.

The back up generators switched on then, casting the halls in a green tinge that pulsated in her peripheral vision.

The sound of gunfire caused her body to constrict again, lurching to her feet as she strained her head over her shoulder in fear that perhaps someone would be chasing her. Two firm hands gripped her shoulders then, steadying her quaking frame as Riley snapped her head forward again, a scream already bubbling in the back of her throat. _“It’s okay!”_ A deep and smooth voice assured, their palms constricting against her skin.

Swallowing the scream bubbling in her throat, Riley looked up into the stern and darkened blue eyes of Chris Argent. A rifle was strapped over his shoulder, as if he’d come prepared for war. And at the sight of Allison’s father, she couldn't help the flood of relief that filled her eyes with tears. Chris could detect the trauma emanating from her in the way she clung to him, desperation and fear fogging her ability to form a coherent enough word.

His hand instinctively raised to brush her wild hair from her face, allowing himself to become sincere in her presence as he lowered his gaze to hers. “I’ve got my men surrounding the building.” He promised. “Where are they?” He murmured, referring to the teenager motivated by murder.

And though her breaths shuddered against her lips, she was able to spit out one coherent word. _“Lo—lobby.”_

Chris stood up straighter then, his hands latching around his weapon once more as he stepped around Riley. “Stay here.” He ordered her as he headed through the door she’d just sprinted from. “I’ll come back for you.” He disappeared then from sight, walking towards the danger the same way a veteran marched into battle. As if being on the front line was all he ever knew, and truth be told, it was the place Chris Argent always felt the most content.

And she was left alone again, feeling herself backpedal into the wall as if she could disappear beneath the wallpaper. As if she could simply close her eyes and be buried beneath the comforts of her bed where no monsters would ever think to find her. But even with her back flush against the wall behind her, she couldn’t conjure up a safe place to escape to. Because in a town like Beacon Hills, it felt like nowhere was ever truly safe.

Something worse always lurked around each corner.

She decided right then that that was no way to live.. To constantly live always looking over your shoulder. To be afraid of the dark not because of the lack of light, but because nine times out of ten, there were things hiding in its depths.

Riley could hear the crackle of a radio then, craning her head to see around the corner as an armed hunter patrolled the hallway across from her. Camouflaged In all black, his gun poised at his eye level, he must have been one of Argent’s men. On high alert considering the circumstances, he didn’t have enough time to react as an object swooped his feet out from beneath him. The hunters body tumbled to the tiled floors with a hard thud, the object at fault glimmering a blue—ish, green tint.

It was the Kanima’s tail that had caused him to topple over, trying his best to right himself before a menacing hiss ghosted through the silent space between Riley and him. She didn’t wait to see the outcome, knowing the hunters odds were no better than the deputies Jackson had slaughtered earlier. And as the man’s scream bursted through his lungs as the Kanima dragged him away, Riley broke into another sprint.

Looping back through the door Chris had disappeared through, her feet deciding on which way to turn before her mind could even calculate where it was that she was headed. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay where she was in fear that Jackson would find her. If a fully armed and trained hunter and officer could not escape the Kanima’s wrath, she knew she couldn’t either.

And in the distance she could hear more gunfire, from Matt or the Argents, she couldn’t be sure.

Finding the time between each quick leap of her feet to pray that Matt’s murderous intentions hadn’t found her friends. She wasn’t sure if she could live with that kind of guilt, because her inability to protect the people she cared about would undoubtedly weigh heavily upon her shoulders.

The hallway before her seemed to branch off into something that probed her mind with familiarity. The archway tugged at her memory from early, shifting her body into a sharp right to round it’s corner as she found herself in the doorway of the stations cells. And before her was John Stilinski, seemingly knocked out cold by the way his body slumped along the length of the bench he’d been cuffed to.

Her instinct told her it had been Matt’s doing, considering Melissa McCall was now securely locked away in the cell next to Johns. His promise to Scott that he would leave his mother unharmed seemed to be the only mercy he was willing to show tonight. And by the way Melissa seemed to gasp in relief when she caught sight of her sons friend idling in the doorway, Riley assumed she was horrified by what she’d witnessed tonight.

“Where’s my son?” Melissa cried, her hands latching onto the cell bars that separated her from finding him. Riley approached her cell with caution, but found an overwhelming eagerness to help her. But if she was honest, she knew Melissa was by far safer behind those bars than she was out of them. “Please tell me Scott’s okay?” She begged.

Riley skimmed the seal of the cell with her eyes, in search for any way to get Scott’s mother out of there. At Riley’s silence, Melissa’s sobs only grew louder, as if her loss for words was a way to confirm Melissa’s worst nightmare. She’d seen her son get shot point blank, but Riley had a feeling it wasn’t as lethal as it could have been.

Her own hands latched onto the bars then, jerking the door back and forth as the metal clanked together noisily, hoping it would somehow loosen the lock. “He’ll be okay.” Riley allowed herself to breathe, hoping their would be some form of truth to her words in the long run.

Melissa stepped back then, almost as if she were in a trance as she remembered the details so vividly. “There was so much blood.” She whispered, shaking her head as her hands wove up and down the length of her arms as if she were trying to comfort herself. If she let her mind wonder for too long, she could still hear the pop of the bullet leaving the barrel of the gun and entering her child all over again. She sobbed, her rigid hands raking through her tightly curled, black hair. “I need to get to him.” She hummed around a crack within her voice. “You need to get me out of here.”

She was so adamant about his safety, as if she were sure her years of nursing could change the fate of her son’s life. But the supernatural world was something she was blind to, having no idea about the effects being a Werewolf offered. She had no idea that wherever Scott was, he was already probably healing.

Riley jerked the metal, cell barred doors back and forth again, shaking her head. “I need the key.” She confirmed, glaring at the deadbolt sealing Melissa inside with distain.

She knew something wasn’t right as soon as she looked back up into Melissa’s eyes. Widened and hooded with fear as Scott’s mother took a hesitant step back, as if she were trying to seep into the darkest corner of the cell. Feeling a hand weave within the roots of her hair at the back of her head, she had no time to react before whoever idled behind her thrusted her head forward and into the steel bar.

The impact caused a pained huff to escape her mouth, her hands gripping the bars so tight to keep herself upright as a pulsating nerve ached beneath the skin of her temple. A dizziness clouded her eyesight, feeling as though her body were sinking into the floorboards at her feet. Thrown off by the cruel actions displayed upon her, a numbness gathered in her limbs as she looked up to see Matt hovering above her.

Scott was nowhere to be seen now, fearing that perhaps Matt’s heinous thoughts had provoked Jackson to go after the werewolf. Her vision seemed hazy as the boy before her crouched down to be at her eye level, no sense of remorse in those vicious eyes of his. “This all really could have been prevented.” Matt shamed her as his held tilted in faux remorse. “All you had to do was give me the memory card.”

Riley’s back was flush against the cell bars, feeling a tender swell just above her left eyebrow. He blamed this whole display of cruelty on her, but Riley somehow felt differently. “You murdered six people.” She reminded him with a heavy voice, teetering on the brink of consciousness. “You didn’t actually think you’d get away with it, did you?”

Matt’s lips pulled back into a grin, his teeth gleaming despite his dark eyes. “I think my total’s reached sixteen now.” He added the death tolls from tonights murder spree to his already growing number. “Wanna guess how many of those are your friends?”

He was egging her on now, hoping to provoke her so that his anger was more justified. She squared her jaw at his comment, feeling her stomach lurch into her throat, despite being able to identify the lie within his tone. She glared up at him then from beneath her lashes. A scowl so visibly threatening that Matt raised a brow in surprise. _“Careful.”_ He whispered. “Or I’ll make it seventeen.”

It was more of a promise than anything, and Riley could see it in his stance over her, that she’d be victim number seventeen if she did not tread carefully. He’d been able to come to terms with the fact that she’d never like him the way he’d idolized her. The way he’d collected her photos as if they were a token of his devotion. They way he’d clutched onto her presence as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. His infatuation over her had stemmed from lust, and over time had developed into something just short of obsession. These past few months he’d tracked her every move, wanting to pry into every detail of her life, because he’d mistaken his attraction to her as something that could be reciprocated.

Her shy smile she offered him each time they passed each other in the hallway was nothing special. It was something she offered every student at Beacon Hills High, but he’d taken her offering as consent to a relationship he’d formed inside his own twisted mind. And that night he’d followed her home from work, stalking her from a distance as he took her pictures through her window, was the night he vowed he needed to have her.

But as Matt looked at her now, her body straining to distance herself from him, was a mere reminder that she’d never see him the way he saw her. “Wh—why the swim team?” Riley asked after suffering through the frightful tension emanating from Matt. Her own curiosity ebbed from the murders he’d inflicted on the people he’d deemed weren’t so innocent.

She remembered each of the victims faces from the yearbook, her mind hopping from one memory to the other as she shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare. And then she remembered the conversation with Jackson when he’d been possessed a few nights prior. How he’d spoken on behalf of Matt, as if he were truly the victim in all of this. How Jackson had said they murdered them one by one, but only because they’d murdered _him_ first.

And then she thought about last night, how Matt had grabbed her so suddenly, and as a result, she’d shoved him into the pool. Remembering how his body thrashed against the water. How he screamed each time he broke through the pools surface. “You almost drowned, didn’t you?” She gathered, seeing something flicker within his eyes as the truth hovered between them.

Her tactic changed then, hoping that her sympathy for him would allow him to lowered his defenses just enough to survive the night. Riley sat up a bit straighter, ignoring the throbbing pain within her temple as he softened his tone. “I was twelve.” He seemed to say then, continue the story behind his reasoning without her even having to ask. “I went to Isaac’s house because he was selling his limited edition Spiderman comic.” He paused for a moment, his lips tugging at the corners ever so slightly.

“His father was the swim team coach, they’d just won the semi—finals that day.” His jaw clenched then, finding it hard to swallow as if he were drowning all over again. “He threw a party at his house for them and . . .” He branched off, feeling overly vulnerable beneath her stare. “And one of them threw me in the pool.” He muttered gravely. “I—I couldn’t swim and they all stood there just laughing.”

He seemed deeply traumatized by it, fighting back the wetness in his eyes as a chill sped down his spine at the memory. “I—I know what it’s like.” She cautiously confessed. Her experience had stemmed from Matt's control over the Kanima. She raised her palm to him, almost a sign of submission as she spoke. “I know that the feeling of drowning never really leaves you after.” She replied.

Matt shook his head, his hands balling into fists as he suddenly stood. He towered over her, his voice raising. _“No!”_ He bellowed. “You have no idea!”

Hoping she could have tamed his temper with sympathy, she soon found that opening her mouth might have been a mistake. Matt hovered close to her, using his vantage point as a way of intimidating her. She found then that she couldn’t stop speaking. It spilled from her lips like word vomit. “Matt,” she breathed deeply, gaining his attention. “All the people that have hurt you are gone now.” She reminded him. “You don’t have to do this.”

He could see the frustration on her face. He could easily detect the plea in her voice. But to him it did not feel authentic. As if she spoke lies with the hopes that he’d let them all go. He seemed to chuckle then, low and dark, when he pieced together her apathy and mind games. He saw right past her and her motives. It was like Riley knew the moment the gear shifts in his head started to work, changing her strategy without thinking it through.

“There are men with guns all over the station.” She reminded him curtly. “Your chances of getting out of here are slim, Matt.” He turned his back on her, shaking his head as if to brush off her threat. He liked his odds, especially with the Kanima on his side. “Do you really want to leave here in a body bag?” She pondered with the slightest tilt of her head.

He huffed once before it turned into a throaty chuckle. He swiveled then, fast and erratic as he snarled at her. “How about I put _you_ in a body bag!” He chided, his threat more menacing than hers.

A growl echoed from the hallway then, peering towards the archway of the door as a pair of red, glowing eyes appeared. Riley watched as Derek stepped forward, his features narrowed into a muzzle as he bared his sharpened teeth at Matt. Riley heard Melissa’s breathing hitch at the sight, witnessing first hand what kind of creatures truly resided within her town. But Matt did not cower at Derek’s approach, thinking one step ahead as he mindfully lured Jackson forward.

The Kanima emerged once Matt had beckoned him forward. Fully phased now as Jackson stalked forward with narrowed, slitted, yellow eyes. He hissed at Derek in return, lunging for one another as Matt slipped away with ease.

And Riley watched lunge after lunge as Derek tried to keep the upper hand, using his years of mastery to overpower the Kanima, but Jackson was much too quick for the Alpha’s tactics. It wasn’t until Jackson bounded off after Matt, undoubtedly trying to protect him from another threat, that Riley saw the damage the Kanima had done. Derek had slowly recovered from the Kanima venom, having easily singled out Riley’s location by her scent alone. But as she watched him straighten his posture now that the threat was gone, she could see the rigidness of his back from the gashes torn into his skin. She could see the blood seeping through his navy blue shirt, his eyes red hot and fueled by anger and he let a monstrous and victorious snarl slip through his teeth at Jackson’s retreat.


	24. Don't Shoot the Messenger

Riley’s fingers were nervously wringing together within her lap as she sat across from the part time school counselor, Ms. Morrell. Already knowing what to expect due to Scott and Stiles both having their appointments with her earlier that morning. But despite already knowing the topic of their discussion, it didn’t make her any less nervous. Especially with Ms. Morrell’s eyes on her, as if she were studying her expression. As if she were diagnosing her without even having to say a word. It was silent for a moment as the guidance counselor jotted something down on her notepad, increasing Riley’s anxiety as she fidgeted in her chair. A lot had happened during spring break, and the school had taken action in regards to the mental well--being of the students involved. “I want to let you know that this office is a safe space.” Morrell concluded assuringly. Her caramel colored skin seemed to illuminate beneath the sun rays that filtered in from the windows aligning the walls of her office. “What we talk about in here,” she promised, “strictly stays between us.”

It seemed like quite a bargain, but it didn’t make the tension any lighter. She could feel a knot form in her stomach then, coiling at the thought of what the guidance counselor would inevitably ask her. “How are you feeling this morning, Riley?” She finally asked, bridging the topic as carefully as she could.

At that, all Riley felt she could do was roll her eyes. “How do you think?” She demanded in a careless voice, though her tone remained soft.

Her and her friends had experienced something so undeniably traumatic that Riley hadn’t even been able to sleep through the night. Even with Derek staying over nearly every night since, she found that her mind would not find the peaceful slumber her body craved. Ms. Morrell nodded, rolling her pen between her fingers as she studied her students response. She waited a moment to respond. “I see the incident has left you quite hostile.” She commented, able to see the clear crease between Riley’s furrowed brows. “Do you want to talk about it?” She left the topic open for discussion, hoping the teenager would comply.

“You already know what happened.” Riley breathed, eyeing the police report visibly splayed across her desk. Minus the obvious supernatural factor, every other report was mostly true. That Matt had cornered them in the Sheriff’s office, but only after he’d killed each and every deputy standing in his way. How Matt forced them to destroy the evidence with guns to their heads, because he thought he could outrun the murderous spree he’d orchestrated throughout that month.

Morrell sat up a bit straighter then, keeping her features soft and apathetic as she spoke. “I’d like to know your side of the story.” She murmured, tilting her head to find Riley’s eyes once the girl across from her looked away. “Did you know Matt Daehler well?” She did not tip--toe around saying his name out loud. “Was he a friend of yours?”

“No.” Riley said, her voice stern as she shook her head. She kept her gaze steadily on the pearl ring on her finger. “I didn’t know him that well.”

The guidance counselor nodded, scribbling something on her notepad before she spoke again. “He seemed to know you.” She commented firmly. “Your relationship with Matt seems very one—sided.”

 _“Because it was.”_ Riley argued, keeping her answers short and to the point.

Morrell unfolded her legs then as she leaned her elbows on her desk, bridging the distance between herself and Riley. “They found his body in the creek this morning.” This didn’t come as a surprise to her, having heard the gossip the moment she’d stepped onto school grounds. Matt had escaped that night with the Kanima in toe, but no one had seen or heard from him for a week. “The autopsy report said it was an accidental drowning.” She studied the way Riley reacted to the news, finding her stone—cold expression a bit unnerving. “But you don’t believe that, do you?” Riley didn’t respond, trying to decipher who it could have been. All of Argent’s men that had survived the night had been accounted for. It couldn’t have been Scott or Stiles. And it couldn’t have been Derek. It could have been an accident, but even being blinded by her own anger, she could visibly see that something seemed off. Morrell changed her question then when she saw Riley would not engage back. “How does his death make you feel?”

Riley squared her jaw before opening up. “I think this town is a lot safer without Matt Daehler in it.”

A part of her did not entirely believe that to be true, considering the Kanima was still a relevant threat. She watched as Morrell wrote something down again, perhaps recording Riley’s answers for further analysis. “They found something interesting on Matt’s body.” She said then. “In his back pocket was a memory card.” Riley’s body seemed to stiffen at that, feeling her teeth gnash into the flesh of her cheek. “Do you have any idea what was on it?” Morrell tilted her head, almost as if she curious too. The memory card sustained water damage, making it impossible for detectives to view what had been on them. And despite being aware of what was on that card, she simply shook her head. Allowing Matt’s heinous crime to die with him. Sensing the tension emanating from Riley, Morrell decided to change the topic to something a little more sensitive. She was dead set on getting a reaction out of Riley, singling out her past in order to understand the mindset of the student before her.

“How has the transition been for you?” She asked then, and Riley rose her brow for Morrell to elaborate. “Balancing school, work and sociality since your mother passed?”

She hadn’t expected Morrell to bring this up, feeling her teeth gnash together harder than they had been before. She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “What’s that have to do with Matt?”

“We’re not talking about Matt anymore.” Morrell prompted. _“We’re talking about you.”_ Her dark brown eyes seemed soft, despite the intimidating posture she seemed to let up. “You seem as if you’ve been handling it well, but I just want to offer any resources that might make it easier for you.”

Riley swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling her skin pepper with goosebumps beneath her jacket. “I handle it by not thinking about it.” She spoke with candor. “If I keep myself busy enough . . .” she trailed off. “My academics and work help a lot.” She tisked off her fingers one by one.

“And what about your friends?” Morrell probed. “I’m sure they’ve contributed in helping you mend.”

Riley nodded. “Scott and Stiles are great.”

“I’m not talking about Scott and Stiles.” Morrell’s tone suggested she knew more than she cared to let on. She closed her notepad then, folding her hands upon her desk as she looked to Riley more insistently. “I’d be a little more cautious in who you consider a friend.” Referring to having seen the black Camaro that had dropped Riley off at School that morning. She knew who it belonged to. Everyone in town knew of the menace behind the wheel. The bell for fifth period rang then, causing Riley to shudder at the shrill sound of it echoing off the tiled floors. Feeling victimized by Morrell’s assessment, Riley gathered her bag stationed at her feet before the flood of heat could fill her cheeks. Morrell hadn’t said exactly who she’d been referring to, but Riley had a hunch as she slammed the office door behind her.

  
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The rest of the school seemed to pass in a blur, not having time to digest this past weeks events, let alone get a second to console her friends who had endured the same trauma she had. It wasn’t till she headed for the parking lot after the final bell rang, that she caught up to Scott and Stiles. They were huddled close to each other near the bike rack, their faces mournful as they spoke in small whispers. Despite the heaviness of their expressions, she approached them with tired and insistent eyes. They hadn’t spoken about what happened to them much, only seeing each other in passing when they’d talked about their one on one sessions with Ms. Morrell. It almost felt like the events were taboo, as if they couldn’t open their mouths to speak about it. But Riley remembered Melissa McCall’s face, her desperation to find her son, and the way her features broadened into horror at the sight of Derek Hale and the Kanima brawling.

“How’s your mom?” She asked timidly, aware that this topic was overtly sensitive. Like a fresh scar that felt as if it would never quite heal.

Scott kept his gaze on the toe of his boots, shifting his weight with uncertainty. “She wouldn’t talk to me.” He breathed with a shake of his head. “She won’t even look at me either.”

Stiles patted his friend on the back. “It’s not like she can ignore you forever, ya know?” His freckled face seemed optimistic. “She loves you no matter what.” He concluded encouragingly. _“Werewolf or not.”_

The drive home with his mother after the whole situation ended felt dreadful. As if the car was closing in on them with each painful second that ticked by. He never thought he’d be able to confess to her what he’d become, but after she’d seen Derek Hale’s glowing red eyes, he figured her mind would have accepted the inevitable. But she hadn’t. In a way, it seemed like Melissa never could. Her son was something she’d only ever seen in horror movies.  
 _That couldn’t be her baby boy_.

Despite the topic opening for discussion, they felt no need to mention Matt’s death. Perhaps neither of them felt grief for the loss of his life, figuring it better than not that he was gone. But it left a lingering question in Riley’s head, one she couldn’t voice nor shake off. If Matt was dead, what was to come of Jackson? Without anybody in control of him, did that mean he was free of the Kanima curse? Riley was taken from her mindful assessment as Scott breathed in a heavy breath. Something else was bothering him . . . Something he’d found out just last period. “Allison hasn’t been at school since before last week.” He reminded them. Riley hadn’t seen her friend in a week, but she hadn’t really had time to think about it with everything else on her plate. “She hasn’t been returning any of my calls or texts.” He hinted at, looking to Stiles with glum—filled eyes.

Stiles pursed his lips, the corners turning down with grief. “Her mom passed away.”

It came as a surprise to Riley, her eyes instinctively shifting to Scott with a knowing look. It had been just three days since Victoria Argent had tried to kill her best friend. Riley’s lips parted in confusion, trembling as if she were going to speak when a flash of black pulled up to the curb beside them. It was Derek in his Camaro, coming to pick her up for work tonight. Despite her hesitancy, wanting to stay with her friends to pry for more answers, she reluctantly got in the front seat. She didn’t speak once Derek pulled out of the parking lot, feeling the seatbelt constrict across her chest. Many emotions seemed to flood her chest, familiar with the grief that Allison must have been going through. Losing a parent was never a simple matter, not when every human emotion conflicted with the moment.

Derek kept quiet as they drove towards her work, feeling something just shy of animosity emanating from the girl who sat beside him. “Did you know about Allison’s mom?” She asked once they were stopped at a red light.

From her peripheral, she could see his grip on the steering wheel tighten. “I heard it was suicide.” He murmured lowly after a moment. Neither turned to face one another. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about the other night.” Riley felt too stunned to respond, her fingers clutching the leather seats as if to keep her anchored. “It’s a pact that the hunters made if any of them were ever bitten by an Alpha.”

It was something he’d learned through Laura. Thinking of the pact to be nothing more than legend, only to find out it was the truth. If a hunter was bitten by a werewolf, they’d take their own life before they could turn into a werewolf themselves. Their was a guilt that clung to Derek’s frame, towering over him as if it were some sort of shield of dishonor. “The night I saved Scott from Allison’s mother,” he confessed somberly as the light turned green, “I knew there was only one way I could truly stop her.”

Riley listened to him speak, feeling his words sink beneath her skin like razor blades. “You bit her.”

He didn’t confirm, but the way he kept his gaze firmly locked on the windshield ahead of him said it all. She wanted to be angry, because the death toll in this town only ever seemed to go up every day, but she couldn’t muster up the courage to blame him. From what she’d heard from Scott, Victoria Argent lacked the mercy that her husband made up for. And as she sat in distilled silence, she couldn’t bring herself to accept the choice between Allison’s mother or Scott McCall. “If the Argent’s find out—“

 _“They already know.”_ Derek’s voice was painfully low as he confessed this. He was already taking precautious measures to ensure he wasn’t caught in the families crossfire. They could come for him, but that wasn’t what worried him. “It’s not them I’m afraid of.” He said after a prolonged moment of silence. Riley turned then to look at him curiously, her brow risen with interest. Derek took a deep and steady breath before he spoke again. “Peter is alive.”

  
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Riley felt an immense numbness overtake her as she completed one coffee order after the next. Like spiraling into a deep, dark reality while her body remained on auto pilot. The thought of seeing her friend, Allison, suffer through the same swell of loss that she had just months prior made her feel more than just sympathy. She wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone. She wasn’t sure if she should reach out to her. Would a call or a text even suffice? What would she say? How could she say anything even remotely encouraging during this difficult time? She knew from experience that there wasn’t anything anyone could say that would diminish the harsh ache of losing a parent. Continuing on through her shift, she kept to herself mostly as her manager noticed the subtle difference in her behavior. He didn’t speak on it, because despite the sadness in her eyes, she still completed all of her work. An A Plus employee in the eyes of any manager.

And then her thoughts shifted from Allison to Derek, and the discussion they’d had in the parking lot of the coffee shop before Riley’s shift. How he’d expressed his grief and how he shouldered the blame for Victoria Argent’s suicide. Riley hated to think of what was worse, losing Scott to the hands of Allison’s mother, or losing her mother to the hands of Derek. Of course his decision to bite her had cost him many sleepless nights since the night of the rave. His choice was one that hung heavily over him, one he knew he wouldn’t shake for quite some time. But he’d done it because he knew it was the only way to stop Victoria Argent from coming for them time and time again. She’d been so set on killing an innocent, sixteen—year old child that Derek couldn’t comprehend what lengths she’d go to in order to hinder anyone else.

And though the Argent’s knew it was the bite of an Alpha that prompted Victoria’s suicide, it wasn’t the hunters Derek feared. They’d come for him time and time again, but the target they’d put on his back didn’t quite compare to Peter’s. Riley gulped at the thought, reminding herself of the truth Derek had spread about how Peter had been brought back from the dead.

The front door to the coffee shop dinged then, signaling the entrance of another patron. The shop was fairly empty now as the clock rounded to nearly seven at night, looking up from wiping down the counters as she spotted a red—head idling near the cash register. It was Lydia Martin, dressed in a knitted beanie and oversized coat. She smiled to Riley expectantly as she approached, waiving the gift card she’d gifted her on her birthday back and forth. “I wish I could say I hate you for fueling my caffeine addiction.” Lydia sighed as Riley rang through her order. She was grabbing a quick drink before the lacrosse game tonight. “Are you going?” She asked as Riley reached for the card with a shaky hand.

Riley nodded, her teeth grinding together in slight disturbance. _“Af—After my shift.”_ Riley declared, looking to the clock as she noticed the last fifteen minutes of her shift had come sooner than expected.

She turned her back then, making Lydia’s sugar free, vanilla latte with almond milk and three extra shots of expresso with as much precision as she could muster up. Taking her time to steam the milk, afraid to look her friend in the eyes for longer than a second. Her fear stemmed from the truth Derek had shared with her earlier that day . . . The truth about Peter’s return.

Placing Lydia’s drink on the counter, the Sophomore offered her a ride to the game. Wanting to accept, she had to ask Lydia one specific question before she could accept. Leaning on her elbows across the counter to get a better look at Lydia, oblivious to anything other than the warm coffee in her hands, Riley asked in a low voice, “Why did you do it?” The question startled Lydia for a moment, her green eyes widening in confusion before she could assume what Riley meant. Her first instinct was to play dumb, to act as if she didn’t know what Riley was talking about.

Noticing the quiver of Lydia Martin’s bottom lip, and the way her eyes seemed to glass over in frustration, the red—head seemed to buckle under the weight of what she’d done. She hadn’t had to explain herself to anyone about what she’d done yet, and found it increasingly hard to look Riley Haven in the eyes with such a huge secret hovering between them. “He wouldn’t stop.” She breathed, her head hung lowly to shield the wetness that gathered in her eyes. Riley tilted her head in confusion, her eyes narrowing with interest. “He wouldn’t leave me alone.” Lydia continued with a shaky breath. “Every night for the past three months he was in my dreams.” She explained. _“Taunting me.”_ She looked to Riley then, her cheeks flushed with defeat.

Straightening her posture, Riley swallowed the lump forming in her throat as she assessed the situation. Before his demise, Peter had bitten Lydia, forming a connection between an Alpha and his Beta. But Lydia hadn’t changed, yet she somehow figured that must not have mattered. Peter’s connection to her hadn't died when he had, if anything, it seemed as if his death had made their bond stronger.

He’d been able to manipulate her from beyond his shallow grave. Exploiting her fear of him enough to make her resurrect him.

  
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She took Lydia up on her offer as they headed for the lacrosse game after Riley’s shift. The tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it did before Lydia had explained her side of Peter’s torment. And even as they walked side by side toward the field, shoulders brushing as the chilled night air bit at the exposed flesh of their cheeks and necks, Riley felt a swell of protectiveness overcome her when it came to her friend. She knew the kind of corruption Peter could lead her into, and she felt responsible for ensuring he never got that close to her again. The lacrosse game was bound to start at any moment as the field opened up before them. The bleachers were packed with people excited for the finals tonight, but Riley couldn’t quite help the lack of enthusiasm gracing her face. Something felt off. Something did not feel right. Lydia’s hand wrapped around Riley’s then, tugging her toward the left side of the bleachers towards Scott and Stiles’ parents.

Riley waived her off, assuring Lydia she’d be right behind her in a moment as her eyes locked with Melissa McCall’s. Despite looking into the yellow hue of her son’s werewolf eyes, she’d come out to support him. As much as Scott had tried to explain to her, it seemed as if this new found information would be something both of them would tip—toe over for a while. But regardless, Melissa offered Riley a tight lipped smile and a tender expression from where she sat between John and Lydia.

Turning then to face the field, Riley skimmed the faces of the players in the maroon jerseys along the field. The two teams were still stretching and tightening the netting of their lacrosse sticks. It seemed as if the players were at ease, but it was Scott’s concerned stare that ensured her that her feeling of looming chaos wasn’t just her own imagination. He felt it too. She broke forward then, pacing along the grass until she reached his side as he sat upon the benches along the field.

“Your mom is here.” She told him as she took a seat beside him casually, her eyes locked on the players warming up a few dozen feet off to their side.

Scott clenched his jaw, keeping his head down as he spoke. “I wish she wasn’t.” That surprised her, until she realized her presence wasn’t just about cheering on her son. It was about her being too terrified to sit at home and wonder if her son would make it through the game unharmed. “I—I told her everything.” He sighed. “But I think all I really did was put a target on her back.”

At that moment, Jackson Whittemore strode past them with his lips curved at their corners. His bright blue eyes seemed darker than usual, leaving an unsettled bubble to rise into the back of Riley’s throat until his presence passed. “Matt’s dead.” Riley reminded Scott with a small whisper, her eyes trailing after the pacing jock, “The Kanima doesn’t have anyone controlling it anymore.”

Scott shook his head, unconvinced by her assumption as his leg began to bounce. “You don’t really think Matt drowned, do you?” His question made her limbs feel heavy, as if she were being bound in a weight of uncertainty. “I think someone else knew about him.” He confessed. “I think someone made his death look like an accident.”

With a furrowed brow, Riley asked, “But why?”

His shoulder shrugged stiffly. “To rectify their own vengeance?” He pondered briefly. “To be the Kanima’s master?”

Before Riley could respond, a breathless Isaac sat down on the bench beside her. His cleats were in his hands, rushing to untie the laces as he grinned at them. “Sorry I’m late.” He huffed to his captain, but Scott did not reprimand the Beta for his tardiness.

“Have you seen Stiles?” Scott asked instead, his eyes roaming over the faces of the other players.

Isaac shook his head, but cleared his throat to speak. “He and Derek are trying to stop Boyd and Erica from leaving.”

 _“Leaving?”_ Riley repeated with confusion, acknowledging the knowing look both werewolves shared with each other over her head.

Isaac’s busy hands seemed to pause nervously as her hazel eyes demanded the truth from him, narrowing after a few seconds of silence. His lips curved anxiously under her stare, feeling obligated to share the truth. His abusive past was still wired into his brain, feeling his skin pepper with goose bumps under the direct stare of her hardened eyes. If she were his father, she would have beaten it out of him. His blonde hair curled along the length of his forehead, pursing his lips before he spoke. He whispered lowly, “They’d rather run than face the Argent’s after what Derek . . .” he trailed off, his grin long gone as his nimble fingers toyed with the laces of his shoes that still sat within his lap.

Unable to help the way her own lips turned down as a response, she found herself murmur. “Shouldn’t Beta’s want to protect their Alpha?” Her head shook then in disbelief when neither of them spoke up. “They’re cowards.”

 _“They’re afraid.”_ Scott corrected her. “You wouldn’t believe what people will do out of fear.”

The sudden blare of Coach Finstock’s whistle interrupted their somber conversation. Isaac hurriedly shoved his feet into his cleats as Scott stood up hastily. “McCall!” Coach stormed towards his most valuable player. “Get your ass on the field!”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, grabbing his lacrosse stick before nudging Riley softly and darting toward the huddle of players.

Coach idled before them as Isaac’s lanky fingers fumbled to tie his shoes. “For Godsakes, Lahey!” He bellowed, his grasp strained against the clipboard in his burly hands. “My dead grandmother moves faster than you! _Move it!_ ” Decidedly he tied his laces into two knots before sprinting onto the field after his captain. Coach shuffled for a moment, raising a brow to the girl still seated on the players bench. “I don’t recall you being on the team, Haven.”

Riley clenched her jaw, unable to take him seriously as the slight breeze blew his combed over hair past his receding hairline. “I’m not.” She reminded him. “I was just—“

 _“Just what?”_ He inclined his head, his eyes narrowed in speculation as Riley looked past him to Scott and Isaac lining up for the first quarter of the game. And when she failed to respond within a second of him asking, he continued his rant. “Just about to get your ass back in the stands?” He waived his hand briskly toward the bleachers, a sign that she should take the opportunity before he popped a blood vessel.

Coach Finstock may have been one of the most undervalued staff members at the school, but his knack for humor and dry insults was what was always so endearing about him. She rose quickly then, shuffling toward where Lydia, John and Melissa all sat as the Coach blew his whistle again for the game to begin.

A comfortable heat radiated from the red head as Riley took a seat beside her. She’d dressed warmly in a Chanel coat, leaving Riley envious as she pulled the open flaps of her leather jacket closer over her chest. Her cold breath fanned out before her eyes, watching it disappear in the bright gleam of the field lights up above. Missing the warm weather of San Diego, Riley ground her teeth together to keep them from chattering. And despite the game that began to unfold before her very eyes, she couldn’t seem to focus on it. Sports were never really her thing. She’d never invested any of her time on them back home, but she felt obligated to now that she lived in Beacon Hills. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that peoples lives were constantly at stake. Regardless, she did keep a mindful eye on Jackson’s jersey as the game proceeded.

Despite Matt being dead, the fear did not seem to subside. What Scott had said seemed to make perfect sense. That someone had deliberately taken out the teenager in order to gain full control of the Kanima. It was as if they were back at square one again, desperately trying to find the source of the Kanima’s wrath.

Riley should have felt safer after what had happened to Matt. She didn’t have to live with the fear that someone’s eyes were always on her. That someone was always stalking her. But the more she thought about it, she couldn’t help but feel petrified at the idea that things were not going to go back to normal so easily . . . Especially now that Peter Hale was breathing again.

Her eyes shifted to the red—haired teen beside her, noticing how intently Lydia watched the players and would occasionally murmur strategic maneuvers under her breath as if she were the Coach. She had a way of snapping back to normalcy even after the wake of tragedy. Even after the months of relentless torture brought on psychologically by Peter, she seemed to be handling the news of the Supernatural quite well. Unlike Scott’s mother, who sat two people away on the other side of John Stilinski. Her hands were wrung tightly together, leaning her elbows on her knees as her foot bounced anxiously. What she’d seen that night would inevitably change her. And as much as she thought it would change the way she loved her only child, she couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid of him. Afraid _for_ him? _Yes. Absolutely._

John was still kept in the dark, having been unconscious for most of the nights events, he could only truly remember the incident with Matt as nothing more than a heist.

Being brought back to reality once she heard the surrounding crowd around her sigh in frustration as the opposing team scored a point, Riley cleared her throat and tried to focus on the game again.

The first half hour of the game seemed more competitive as usual, finding that the other teams defensive players were nearly double in size compared to the Cyclone’s. And despite the distance, she was almost positive she could see the agitated roll of Scott’s shoulders after another one of his players was taken out of the game. As the teams lined up for another run, Riley quietly debated on if texting Derek would be worth it, knowing that both he and Stiles were most likely not going to be able to stop Boyd and Erica from running. And in the moment it took her to contemplate that, the sound of two helmets colliding harshly from the field echoed into the stands. She could feel Lydia wince from beside her, looking up to see two maroon clad players splayed out on the grass.

One seemed to rise, smoothing out the front of his jersey as if he hadn’t been hurt at all. She recognized the number, seeing the last name ‘Whittemore’ written along the backside of his jersey. Squinting her eyes as she focused on the player left writhing in pain at his feet, it was clear to her now that it was Isaac Lahey.

He’d defensively hurled himself at his own player, and at the sound of Isaac’s painful hiss being carried on the wind, she rose from her seat in anticipation. She expected a fight to break out now. That any moment Isaac would rise to his feet and throw a fisted hand at the jocks face, but it didn’t happen. Isaac remained on the ground as if his body was unable to heal. She didn’t say a word to Lydia as she sprinted from the bleachers, heading for the field only to have her path cut off by two EMT’s and their stretcher. Skidding to a stop, grasping for any explanation that would justify why her friend was not healing. He was a werewolf, his wounds would have already begun to mend themselves by now.

Idling on the threshold between the field of players and the other by—standers, it was Scott McCall who clasped her wrist within his palm. “Something’s happening.” He explained, looking into his wide and panicked eyes before glancing back to see the EMT’s loading Isaac’s body onto their stretcher. “Jackson did that on purpose.” He vented, pulling her toward him slightly to make room for the EMT’s as they carried their friend toward the parking lot.

“Why isn’t he healing?” She asked, staring after their retreating forms until they disappeared.

Scott’s head shook, his crooked jaw clenching methodically as he tried to evaluate the situation. “Go with them.” Scott finally concluded, inclining his head toward the direction of the EMT’s. “Make sure he’s okay.” He released her wrist then before attempting to put his mouth guard back in. “I’m going to try an get Jackson benched for the rest of the game.”

He ran off then toward the field, the teams dispersing back into position after the hold up that Isaac’s incident caused. Scott did not have to tell her twice, trusting his judgement enough to comply. Heading in the opposite direction, back through the bleachers and towards the parking lot, she hoped to catch up to the EMT’s in time to see the damage done to Isaac, or perhaps catch a ride to the Hospital where he’d need further treatment.

A part of hoped his lapse in healing was just a fluke, debating the probability of it as she passed the line for the concession stands, by--passing the gate as her eyes locked on the ambulance parked just outside the front of the school. There always seemed to be one present during any sporting event, in case of instances where players sustained injuries just like tonight. Never once, during any of the Lacrosse games she’d attended, had they ever had to use one.

The parking lot was void of any people, all huddled on the field as the game passed it’s third quarter. But the closer she got to the van, the more she could see through the glass windows adorning the back doors. She paused in the glow of it’s tail lights, leaning onto the tips of her toes as she peered inside. The back end of the ambulance was empty. With a furrowed and confused expression, Riley stepped back as she veered around the lot with curious eyes in search of the EMT’s who had carried Isaac out. The parking lot was brimming with cars, but otherwise remained a ghost town. The only sound was the distant cheering from the field, an echo of encouragement as the opposite team scored another goal.

A sense of panic seemed to cluster in the pit of her chest, looking back to the school before her as goosebumps peppered the skin along the back of her neck. There was something eerie about the immense tension she felt form at the nape of her spine as she trailed her eyes over the high school’s front doors. Something that prompted her to head up the side walk and ascend the few steps to the entrance before her hand wrapped around it’s handle in a tightly knitted fist. Her shoulders felt heavy as she pulled slightly, feeling the hinges give way and crack open despite them should having been locked.

With a lungful of air idling in her throat, she slipped in through the door without having been seen. If not for the feeling clamoring in her gut, guiding her forward, she wouldn’t have been so brave as to venture forward. Something felt wrong the further she walked. The hallways were dim and brimming with darkness, her boots casting a soft click on the tiled floors as she strained her ears for any other sounds.

Staying on the first floor, her gut feeling directed her forward as her pace came to halt just before she rounded the corner to hallway leading to the gymnasium and locker rooms. A soft whistle of noise traveled from it’s depths. A voice. Stoic and condemning as she peered around the corner of the hallway with slow and precise movements. There was nothing in the halls, but the door to the boys locker room remained open up ahead. Her mouth felt dry at the sight, feeling her throat swell with anxiety as she slowly turned the corner and headed down the hallway. Her footsteps were light, her ears straining as she kept herself pinned flat against the wall. A voice could be heard, distinct yet unfamiliar as she approached the open door to the boys locker room. Pausing just outside of it, with shaking hands, she gripped the frame of the door as she slowly peered her head around the doorway.

It was nearly pitch black inside, save for the field lights filtering in through the small windows aligning the back wall of the room. Riley could make out the yellow stretcher on the cement floor, vacant of anyone she had expected. A burly hand then clasped around the back collar of her jacket, thrusting her forward as her limbs scrambled to latch onto anything that would anchor her. To no avail, she looked back to see the man from earlier dressed in the EMT jumper, though his expression was void of any emotion. He dragged her further into the locker room, her hands clutching at the metal lockers, her nails raking against the floor to escape his hold on her. He paused then, thrusting her down as she landed on her knees as the room fell into complete silence.

She shifted her head over her shoulder, to the left, as she found Isaac strained along his back. His blue eyes were wide with terror, his curly blonde hair matted with sweat. His gaze was not on her, but of the figure looming behind her. Able to feel the presence of someone lurking, she slowly turned her head to see a figure emerge from the shadowed wall across from them. Their skin was porcelain, almost translucent, wrinkled and withered away by age. Between his hands he wielded a small sword, etched from the steel that had been in his family for decades. “It’s a shame we had to meet like this.” The voice commented, deep and shaky as his words tapered off into soft whistles. She could see his face now, his stark white hair was sparse, comb to the side as his dark, pitted eyes creased in her direction. He ran the pad of his finger across the sharpened edge of his sword, continuing to speak, “The circumstances are less than desirable.”

He took a step forward, causing Riley to scoot further back as she idled in the way between both Gerard Argent and Isaac. She hadn’t met Allison’s grandfather before, but the horror stories simply did not justify the sheer terror his impression left. “Isaac and I were just getting to know each other.” He murmured. “You’re just in time for the show.”

Gerard waived his sword forward threateningly, implying he’d be using it on the Beta shortly. “It—“ Isaac’s voice trembled from behind her, a warning stuttering from his quivering lips, “It’s him, Riley.” He croaked. “He’s in control of the Kanima now. He's the one that killed Matt.” Riley kept her eyes firmly set on the elderly man before them. He was seemingly sick for being in his early seventies, but he kept a polished appearance all for the show. Gerard had ordered Jackson to knick Isaac with his paralytic toxin, which in turn, had left him inoperable of his own body and ability to heal. Gerard had taken ownership of him after he had drowned Matt Daehler in the creek.

This was all a part of a plan, to bring Isaac here so that Gerard could slaughter him.

“He is indeed correct.” The old man agreed to Riley’s surprise. She’d expected him to play off his role as a hunter toying with supernatural creatures. From within the locker room, they could hear the faint buzzer of the game sound off in the distance. It was the signal of the end of the finals. Though she could hear the crowd cheer, she could not detect which team they were cheering for. “Any moment now,” Gerard wheezed, “that crowd is going to be screaming.” He threatened. “Someone on that field is going to die, Riley.”

Hearing him speak her name for the first time caused hot bile to fill her throat. Swallowing it down with a squared jaw, she could feel her own nails dig into the palms of her hands. She fisted them too tightly out of anger and fear. “It could be Scott.” He prompted. “Or perhaps Lydia? Maybe even the Sheriff—“

“What do you want?” Riley felt the words travel up her throat, spewing out like acid.

Gerard’s thin lips raised into a crooked grin. “An eye for an eye.” He lectured her. “I lost both my daughter and my daughter—in—law to the Alpha.” He sneered, his eyes shifting to Isaac and back to Riley. “Killing his Beta might level out the score.” Gerard took another step forward, flanked by his Hunters disguised as EMT’s. “You see, an Alpha losing his Beta isn’t like losing a friend.” Gerard muttered. “It’s like losing a limb.”

At his threat to kill Isaac, Riley felt her hand gently graze over the handle of her dagger inside the ankle of her boot. Despite the odds of this fight not being in her favor, she was not going to let him anywhere near her friend. She rose to her feet swiftly, the ring of her danger clasped tightly within her fist as she pointed it’s sharpened end toward Gerard.

His hunters reacted accordingly, raising their compound bows, loaded with arrows, in her direction. Their fingers hovered over the triggers anxiously, until Gerard raised his hand to waive them off. He looked to her admirably as she shifted her weight, both nervously and defensively, as she silently protested his threat. “Tactics used by a hunter.” He acknowledged the stance she took. “More specifically an Argent.” Had he known that Chris had taught her everything she knew? “Your efforts are commendable,” Gerard complimented. “But not enough to save your friend.” He took another step forward, his sword was nearly five times the length of her dagger, yet she still raised it firmly without hesitation. It was stupid to go up against three skilled hunters, yet she could not bring herself to grant them passage.

“I get that you want revenge on Derek.” Riley disputed with heat filled eyes. “But are you really going to murder a sixteen year old child? Your family— _the Argent’s_ —you have rules.”

Gerard clicked his tongue. “Christopher’s rules are not my rules.”

“What would Allison think?” Riley said, hoping to guilt his conscious into backing down.

By the expression on his withered face, it did not worry him. “After the death of her mother,” Gerard murmured, “my granddaughter couldn’t agree with my tactics more.” His admission confused Riley, knowing that how he portrayed Allison’s mindset was not how she perceived her friend. Allison would never stand for the murder of a child. “If it were up to her,” he managed to continue, “she’d kill Derek Hale herself.” He taunted Riley then by raising his sword higher for himself to inspect, “He’s decided to hide himself behind his own Beta’s. Too bad for them, it’ll cost them their lives.”

He took another step forward, and though Riley took two steps back in return, she did not lay down her weapon. Studying her for a moment longer, Gerard was able to come to a conclusion that Riley did not feel comfortable with. “I could kill his Beta,” he stated, “but something tells me you are of much more value to Derek Hale than his own pack.” Riley wanted him to be wrong, but found that she could not directly voice her own opinion on the matter before he continued. “A hunter thrives on baiting it’s prey.” He inclined his head, signaling for his hunters to grab onto Riley. _“You’re our bait.”_

She could see the hunters stalk forward, flanking her on each side as she struggled to keep her dagger poised and ready. She wielded it at them, hoping to ward them off, but her experience did not compare to theirs. She felt their hands latch around hers, straining her grasp until she dropped the dagger at their feet. Thrashing her limbs as if to hinder her compliance, she settled down once she noticed Gerard pack away his sword. “You’re not going to kill him?” She asked, tears brimming her eyes as she looked to Isaac over her shoulder.

“Of course not,” Gerard promised, “he’s our messenger.”


	25. A Wolf in the Sheep's Skin

It seemed nearly impossible to breathe, feeling the unnerving tension as a sense of claustrophobia settled in. She knew she was confined inside the back of a transportation van due to the cold metal beneath where she sat. The engine had run cold, parked for what seemed like hours now, but no one had come for her. Riley knew the van was parked, but where exactly, she could not determine. A bag was draped over her head, its fabric torn just enough to breathe a sensible amount of oxygen to keep her alive. But it left her blind, continuing to fiddle with the zip ties restraining her arms behind her back. A frustrated huff of air blew from her clenched teeth when she found that the ties would not budge. And despite being held as a hostage, she felt compelled to believe that her fate was better off than what Gerard would have done to Isaac.

She knew it had been hours now since she’d been missing. Isaac would have surely gotten to Derek by now. He would have explained the circumstances and how her safety was at stake. Already aware of the lengths Derek would go to find her, she came to the conclusion that some sort of plan was already in the works. But a part of her wished that their plan did not involve a sacrifice on their part. A part of her wished that her life hadn’t held any meaning, so that Gerard could not hang it over Derek’s head. As if the Alpha would choose her over himself. Gerard was smart when it came to strategic measures, but the old man was one of the most volatile people she’d ever come across.

Another heavy breath settled deeply within her lungs, her shoulders stiffening when the slightest _thud_ of the double doors to the van creaked open. Despite the bag obstructing her view, Riley could see a bright light filter in through the crack of the hinges before the door fully opened and a stream of light beamed inside. Her muscles locked on their own accord, feeling a pair of quick hands tear the bag from over her head. At first, she kept her eyes clamped shut as tightly as she could. Too afraid to open them in fear of who would be lingering before her. But her curiosity could not be contained, peering up at the silhouette beneath her lashes as an Argent hovered over her. Their hands fumbled with the cap to a water bottle, “I don’t have much time.” Allison heaved anxiously, peering over her shoulder before tipping the lip of the bottle to her friends mouth. “They’ll come looking for me if they notice I’m gone.”

Riley swallowed the cold liquid greedily, paying no mind to how she swallowed gulp after gulp as it spilled from the corners of her mouth. Allison pulled it back suddenly, leaving Riley gasping for breath as she scooted closer to the door of the van. She could see now that the van was parked inside of a garage. It took Riley a second longer then to catch her breath before allowing a plea to spill from her lips. _“Help me.”_ She whispered, her hazel eyes insistently searching through Allison's conflicted gaze.

It seemed as if the hunter teetered on the edge of doing so, but kept her stance locked into place. Allison had drawn a very thin line between being a trusted friend, but kept her pledged loyalty to Gerard to herself as Riley silently questioned Allison’s motives. “It’ll be over soon.” Allison mentioned vaguely, still shooting nervous looks over her shoulder towards the door to the garage. “He promised me that he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“It’s not _me_ I’m worried about.” Riley seethed between gritted teeth. Her arms remained bound behind her, unable to escape even if she truly could. Allison squared her jaw, keeping her eyes down so that Riley could not see the intensity within them. She knew who Riley feared for. It wasn’t a shock to her anymore that the Alpha had twisted his claws into her as well. She’d learned a lot about Derek Hale within the past twenty—four hours. Stories told to her by her grandfather. And most importantly, a suicide note left behind from her mother. It was where the truth had come to light. Where she learned the real reasoning behind her mothers sudden death. Perhaps Allison didn’t care about the aspect of Derek’s life, but Riley fed into Allison’s hesitation. “Do you really think Derek will come alone?” She pressed, her expression hardening as she glared up at her friend. “That Scott and Isaac won’t fight with him?”

“Gerard promised me he wouldn’t hurt them.” She bargained as she stuck up her chin. “That he wouldn’t hurt any of you.”

“He _is_ hurting me!” Riley snapped, her voice carrying into an echo that left Allison shuffling nervously at. She tugged at the ties around her hands, twisting her arms just enough for Allison to see the redness gathering from where they dug into her skin. “And _you’re_ hurting me,” she accused, “for letting it happen!”

The hostility within the harsh tone of Riley’s voice caused a gleam to settle within Allison’s eyes. She knew Riley would not understand. That Riley would defend a monster even with their hands stained red. Allison tried to compartmentalize her emotions. To try and see past her friend in order to look at the bigger picture. She allowed her eyes to become vacant. For her voice to stay monotonous and detached. “My mother is dead.” She sneered. “Someone needs to be held responsible.”

Riley shook her head. “You are so incredibly brainwashed. You can’t honestly want an eye for an eye?”

 _“I want justice.”_ Allison corrected.

Riley’s voice heightened, cracking in anger. “Revenge isn’t justice!” Allison shot another nervous glance toward the door, deciding she needed to evacuate the situation before her grandfather came searching for her. She gripped the sac within her hands, moving forward as if she were going to place it back over her friends head. Riley ducked, straining her neck to look Allison dead in the eyes. “Your revenge is based solely on one side of the story.” She huffed. “Derek didn’t just take a life that night. _He saved Scott’s._ ” That caught Allison’s attention, pausing her advancement to ponder her friends words. “Your mother was killing a child.” Riley breathed evenly, her tone dimming with the hopes that Allison might see her side. “But I’m guessing Gerard conveniently left that part out, didn’t he?”

A conflicted twitch of Allison’s eye assured Riley that the hunter was unaware of all aspects of what had truly happened that night. The brunettes mouth opened as if she were going to speak, so taken aback by the sudden direction of their conversation, that she closed it promptly. A trail of voices then sounded from the hallway leading to the garage, more hunters passing by as Allison panicked, thrusting the bag back over Riley's head before shutting the van doors and sprinting off.

Leaving Riley Haven bound as bait.

  
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A drowsiness began to settle within the lids of Riley’s eyes as two more hours passed. Her eyelids felt too heavy to keep open, finding herself dozing off despite the hum of the van’s engine rattling beneath her. She could tell they were on the move again, unsure of where their final destination was, she focused her dwindling energy on easing her erratic breathing. She supposed that by now, Scott and Derek had come to some kind of agreement in regards to Gerard’s hostage situation. She knew it must have involved Derek giving himself up, but a part of her felt so sure that that wasn't entirely the case. Perhaps they’d found a loophole in their own agreement, forming a plan ‘B’ in the midst of this war. She trusted them when it came to that, knowing their plan would never intentionally harm her or anyone else they considered innocent.

And then her mind reverted back to Allison, and how she could have sworn she’d seen some sort of resolution ignite within her friends eyes before she’d panicked and fled. It wasn’t so surprising to find that Gerard had miss fed her information in order to carry the weight of revenge on a seventeen year old’s shoulders. Allison was grieving, of course she would have believed anything her grandfather told her. Riley was familiar with that grief all too well. She’d swallowed it’s voidness whole, only to have it devour her from the inside out, chew her up, spit her out and repeat. Riley sympathized with the fresh wound of her friends loss, and how it ached in unfathomable ways. She wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone, the grief of losing a parent. But she also could not find it in herself to villainies Derek Hale for his actions.

At least not this time around. It seemed as if Derek carried the weight of what he did like cement blocks shackled to his tired feet. He knew the weight of his transgressions, and he was prepared to carry them for the rest of his life. But he’d seen first hand what Victoria Argent had done— _what she was going to continue to do_ —if he hadn’t of intervened. He knew that a hunter like her would always keep hunting. She’d been so willing to sacrifice the life of a child just to eradicate the presence of one more wolf in her town, that nothing would have stopped her. Nothing except the fatal bite of an Alpha. A bite that would force herself to end her life in honor of the Argent’s code. Did Derek feel extreme remorse for the blood he’d inadvertently shed? Undoubtedly. Did he regret it? _Absolutely not._

Riley felt the van come to a sudden halt, her body straining in order to keep herself upright as her heart rate picked up again. She swore she could feel the rapid pulse of her heart quake the metal of the inside of the van, unable to keep her body from radiating a feverish chill. She shook violently as voices emerged from the distance, familiar and cautious as the double doors to the back of the transportation van whipped open. A pair of strong hands curled around her shoulders, dragging her from the depths of the van until she stood upright. The bag was ripped from over her head, her eyes squinting against the harsh light beaming down from rafters of an abandoned building. It took her a moment for her vision to adjust, and still, the gleam of light left her vision splotchy.

“It seems to me that you’re lacking a pack, Derek.” A deep and whispy voice taunted off to her side. Without having to look, she could make out the distinct tone of Gerard’s voice. At his comment, she narrowed her eyes ahead, finding the Alpha idling only a dozen feet away. He was alone, his features hard and his hands balled into fists. He skimmed his eyes over Riley once, assessing her quickly for any wounds inflicted by the hunter he loathed. But Gerard was right, Derek’s pack was no longer what it had once been. He hadn’t been able to stop Boyd and Erica from fleeing, leaving town in fear of what the hunters might do to them to get to Derek.

The alpha did not respond, tearing his eyes from Riley before narrowing them at the Argent’s. Riley could see Allison idling before her, staring into the rigid muscles of her back as she strained her hateful eyes on the werewolf before them. And to Riley’s side, to her surprise, was Chris Argent. Had this been his plan too? To use Riley as bait in order to lure the werewolf who indirectly murdered his wife? Chris could see her watching him from his peripheral, but chose not to meet her gaze. “I’m giving you what you want.” Derek confronted them bravely. “Now let her go.”

Just as Riley had suspected, he’d offered himself up in exchange for her safe return. Did he not know that his action would ultimately end with his own demise? Was he aware of the sacrifice he was offering them, in exchange for what? Riley could not see the worth of her own life over his. “I’m much wiser than you give me credit for, Derek.” Gerard's breathy tone eased into a whistle at the end of each of his sentences. “I’ve been hunting werewolves for nearly fifty years,” he bragged, keeping his arms crossed behind his back as he began to take two small paces forward. “Which means I’ve picked up on a few tactics warranted by monsters just like you. You must think I’m stupid if you didn’t think I knew you wouldn't come alone.”

Derek’s jaw visibly clenched, his shoulders rising with one steady breath as two figures emerged from the shadows behind him. Both Scott and Isaac flanked Derek at his sides, their posture signifying they weren't going to allow any more bloodshed. Just like Riley had suspected, their plan had a backup that did not involve the heinous offering of Derek’s life.

Despite her arms remaining bound behind her back, she felt safer with the three of them facing up against the Argent’s. Surely Chris and Allison would not allow the harm of children in order to get to Derek, but then again, they’d all thought the same about Victoria too. “Your army is commendable,” Gerard praised, “but make no mistake here, Derek, you are going to die tonight.” At that threat, Scott, Isaac and Derek’s fingers elongated into stiffened claws.

And without having to say a single word, Gerard’s connection as the Kanima’s master seemed to magnify. The withered hunter beckoned him forward silently, causing the room to fall into a heated tension as the Kanima emerged from the shadows, a hiss echoing from it’s blue—tinged lips, as it crouched atop the roof of the van behind Riley. It’s sudden presence caused Riley to jolt, shuffling forward out of fear until it leapt from the roof of the van, following Gerard’s mindful orders, before it pounced at Riley’s side. Jackson’s scaled arm curved around Riley’s body, it’s sharpened claws positioned at her throat. She could feel the points raking the sensitive skin of her neck, her breaths coming in short and shallow spurts at the sudden direction of tonights events.

This was Gerard’s way of threatening Derek, who seemed to pause his advance mid—shift, knowing another step forward could result in Jackson tearing out her throat. Both Allison and Chris had backed away, unaware of the tactics Gerard seemed to teeter with. “Let her go.” Scott’s voice was laced with venom, his dark eyes hooded and insistent.

“Don’t you mean _‘let her live’_?” Gerard corrected. From the look Riley could make out on Chris’ face, she could tell that having the Kanima present must not have been part of the plan. She wasn’t shocked to find that Gerard’s motives were not only violent, but silent as well, aiming for the prize he’d come searching for, hoping tonight would result in Derek’s head on a pike. “Before I kill you, Derek,” Gerard ghosted forward, so sure that the Alpha would not lunge at him with the Kanima poised at his girlfriends throat, “there is one thing I’ll need you to do for me.” His pace was slow, worn out by his own exertion as he began to roll the sleeve of his button down shirt up to his elbow. “Unfortunately, science does not have a cure for cancer yet.” He remarked with candor, “But the supernatural does.”

The room seemed to fall silent at the news. Gerard had been sick now for almost a year, a secret he’d kept from his own family. By his suggestion, Riley assumed he could have only meant the bite. It would ensure the longevity of his life, healing him of the cancerous cells infesting his body one by one.

Chris Argent’s features contorted into disgust. Unable to believe that his own father, who had taught him the morals of a hunter, would turn his back on his own code to live another day. Though it had been Gerard who had enforced Victoria to perform her own suicide after the exact same bite. “You monster.” Chris seethed, his piercing blue eyes twisted with hate. “You’ll kill anyone just to get what you want.”

Gerard fumbled with the sleeve of his shirt, his pale skin seemed ghostly now that Riley knew the truth behind his deteriorating health. “When it comes to survival,” Gerard jabbed back, “I’d kill my own son.”

The hunters loyalty did not reside with his own family, showing the true colors of his character as Riley felt the Kanima’s claws tighten around her jugular. Gerard was a mere few feet from Derek now, holding out his arm toward the Alpha as he flashed his paper thin skin as an invitation. “Though this favor will not prevent your own death, it’ll ensure your dearest Riley lives to see another day.” And though she shot him a terrified glance, trembling beneath the Kanima’s grip, the gleam with her eyes begged him not to accept his own fate. Silently pleading with him in the hopes that he would not give the wise hunter what he wanted. The power of a werewolf was something just short of sacred, knowing that Gerard could not be trusted with that kind of strength. “Perhaps my offer wasn’t good enough?” Gerard rose a white brow at the sight of Derek’s hesitation. Another moment of silence passed as Derek internalized the fear radiating from his own body in waves, knowing he'd willingly give his life up in favor for hers. But his hesitation did not settle well with the Argent, taking Derek’s silence as defiance. The old man up—turned his nose, squaring his jaw, _“Jackson?”_ He murmured tauntingly.

Riley felt the sharpened points pierce the soft skin of her flesh, a gasp ringing from her lips as the pain jolted her suddenly. _“—Wait!”_ Derek huffed feverishly, taking a wild leap forward as he put himself toe—to—toe with the hunter. “Let her go,” Derek’s voice lowered into a plea, his blue—green eyes fighting the haze of wetness as he looked his enemy in the eyes, “and I’ll give you what you want.”

Gerard studied the fear gleaming with the his eyes, radiating with satisfaction at having a Hale cower before him. This had been a long awaited feeling, wishing so many years ago that it had been Talia, _Derek’s mother_ , bowing at his feet. Gerard gave a simple nod, his thoughts directed toward the Kanima as their bond heightened the connection from his mind to Jackson’s. At that, the kanima’s arm fell to it’s side, releasing Riley’s throat as she released a heavy lungful of air. She could feel the wetness pool within the crevices of her collar bones, the puncture wounds were shallow, dug just deep enough to draw blood. Her eyes had become wet with fresh tears, lacing her vision on Derek as he focused his attention on the hunter idling before him. The Alpha grasped Gerard’s forearm tightly, his blue veins prominent beneath his translucent skin as he accepted his fate.

Surely, Gerard would prompt Jackson to kill him soon after he gave him the bite. It was as if he idled on the other side of the door on death row, knowing he was being lead to the execution, yet he couldn’t help the way his instincts told him to stop fighting it. If this sacrifice meant saving an innocent life, he was happy to give it, especially considering it was Riley’s.

Her presence in his life for the past four months was somehow both terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. He’d never felt that before, the palpitation of his heart against his lungs, constricting against his ribs at just the mere sight of someone. In her short amount of time in his life, she’d offered him something he hadn’t had in what seemed to be a very long time. _Hope._ Hope for a fresh start. Hope that the good days would soon outshine the bad. Hope that the guilt he felt would not linger forever.

He could feel her eyes on him, the way her chemo—signals flared with fear at each passing second, yet he could not bring himself to compromise her safety. To him, her life held so much more promise than anything he could have ever offered the world. And for a second he wondered how disappointed his mother would be in him, to fall at the hands of another Argent. Without any hesitancy left to restrain his actions, Derek brought Gerard’s forearm up to his lips, allowing the fangs to protrude from his gums, before sinking them into the hunters flesh.

Gerard wheezed at the sensation for a moment, relishing in the victory of life before Derek pulled away. Blood oozed from the bite wounds, cradling his arm to his chest as a smile crept over his withered lips. A hunter shouldn’t have been basking in the glory of a fresh bite, they should have been mourning the ending of their life, not celebrating the beginning of it.

A weight of grief clouded Riley’s shoulders, knowing Gerard would command Jackson to kill him at any moment, but found it easier to breathe the longer Gerard kept quiet. The hunter was studying his arm, eyeing the puncture wounds of the bite with a puzzled expression before his peppered brows knitted in confusion. The blood seeping from his wound seemed to thicken, pouring from the bite as it turned an unsettling shade of black. By the horrified expression lacing Derek’s face, Riley could only assume that something was wrong. “What’s happening?” Gerard stammered, his smile now curving downward.

“You thought you were the only one with a plan?” Chris Argent spoke up suddenly, breaking forward in a stride as he approached his father cautiously. “The night Victoria took her own life, the night you forced her into the ultimatum of doing it herself, or that you’d do it for her, you said something to me. Do you remember what it was?” Gerard gulped thickly, the black blood a gut wrenching shade in comparison to his stark white skin. When his father did not speak, Chris continued, “You told me that the weakest of us were sheep. That we’d blindly follow the heard into slaughter, because it’s what we’re taught to do. You told me you’d rather be the _wolf in the sheep’s skin_.”

The hunter had referred to being deceptive to avoid the slaughter, catching Chris’ attention as he blindly assumed his own fathers agenda. Gerard could feel an ache begin to form within his bones, more heinous than the cancer that riddle his body. “I replaced your medication with placebo’s.” Chris confessed. “All filled Mountain Ash.”

Riley remembered the substance from the night of the rave, how its supernatural capabilities could deter a creature from crossing it’s boundaries. If digested, the substance would inoculate the person from a bite, causing both the ash and bite to counteract with one another in a way that would leave Gerard wishing the cancer had killed him first. Gerard stumbled back then as the black goo began to seep from his nostrils, pooling over his lips as he silently accused his own son of sabotage. “Kill them!” Gerard suddenly screeched, his demand directed towards Jackson. _“Kill them all!”_

With the weight of Gerards words hanging heavily within the air, Chris Argent locked his eyes on Riley Haven. _“Duck.”_ He instructed her, cocking his pistol firmly as he pointed the barrel towards the creature lurking over her shoulder. Without thinking twice, Riley dropped to her knees at the cement, hearing the _pop_ of the gun before the bullet wheezed right over her head. She could feel it’s breeze as it passed by, striking the Kanima in the chest. It stumbled backward, but did not go down.

Her gaze reverted back to Gerard, shuffling back into the darkness as he narrowly escaped his own execution. No one went after him, their attention diligently focused on the Kanima ordered to kill them. With the weight of Gerard’s demand hanging heavily within Jackson’s mind, his jaw snapped open, showing off his rows of dagger teeth as a haunting hiss echoed menacingly their way. Scott got to her first while Derek and Isaac sprung forward, teeth bare and claws rigid as Chris kept a watchful eye out for their blindspots. Everyone seemed to work as a team for the first time, but the circumstances were less than admirable.

Her friend latched his clawed hand around the zip—ties locking her arms behind her back, snapping them apart as the constricted muscles in her shoulders stretched with relief. When she looked back at the last place she’d seen Gerard, he seemed to be gone. Having vanished like a cloud of smoke on a haze filled morning. She wondered if the bite would kill him, unsure of how the mountain ash would counteract with the fresh wound.

A part of her was curious, but another part of her found that she did not care.

Gerard lacked any emotion in the face of his son, acknowledging that his own life seemed to hold more worth than both Chris and Allison’s combined. That was not the typical outlook of a father or grandfather. Gerard Argent was undoubtedly the worst kind of monster that could ever exist. One that did not wear an animalistic face, but wore the skin of a delicate old man with vengeance boiling within his blood. He deserved whatever fate came his way. “Take the van!” Chris shouted over the snarls rupturing from Derek’s throat, as both he, Isaac and Scott lunged at the kanima time and time again. Chris’ words were directed at Allison as the brunette stood visibly shaken at Riley’s side. “Get out of here!”

She hadn’t expected her own grandfather to turn on her, still able to hear the threatening echo of his tone after he’d sentenced them all to death. Chris fired his gun again, the shrill sound causing a ripple of nerves to weave up Riley’s spine as her hand instinctively clenched around Allison’s. His fatherly instinct told him to protect his daughter, fighting beside the werewolves he’d once sworn were his enemies.

With the slightest hesitation in Riley’s stance, she watched as the Kanima’s tail whipped at Derek’s feet, knocking him over as Isaac stepped between the creature and his Alpha while Derek righted himself. Her gaze caught his as he stood, unsteady for a second as he wiped away the blood spilling from between his teeth with the back of his hand. “Go!” Derek nodded in her direction, seconding Chris’ demand that both she and Allison get the hell out of there.

It was Allison who then squeezed Riley’s hand, tugging her back before heading for the drivers seat. Riley’s knees buckled beneath her tired frame, reaching the passenger side door before fumbling into the seat. Without second guessing herself, she slammed her finger against the lock upon the door as Allison switched the van, with the keys still dangling from the ignition, on. The roar of the engine seemed to gather the Kanima’s attention, pausing his advance on Scott as it hurled a hearty snarl their way. Riley could see it’s slitted, yellow eyes narrow in their direction. It’s scaled body poised in interest before it suddenly pivoted out of Derek’s reach and bound toward the van. Riley’s body froze, molding herself to the seat of the car as she gripped it’s leather with a tightly knit fist.

She could hear Chris empty his clip in it’s direction, sprinting at them with full force until it pounced atop the hood of the van, a hellish sound screeching from it’s throat. Allison let out a high pitched scream that seemed to overpower his, her hands clenching the steering wheel so unbelievably tight, Riley was sure she’d snap it off the dashboard. And just when the tense quiver beneath Riley’s skin could not be contained any longer, she too let out a petrified shrill.

The Kanima rose it’s clawed hand, able to see the wolves sprinting forward with the hopes of stopping the creatures attack. To no avail, Jackson thrusted his clawed fist right through the windshield of the van. The glass shattered upon impact, the shards falling into Riley’s lap as she strained her body against the seat, trying to distance herself from the razored claws waiving in their direction.

Allison seemed to panic, stomping her foot upon the gas pedal as the van suddenly lurched forward. The velocity seemed to give her whiplash, squeezing her eyes shut as the van sped ahead. Derek, Isaac, Scott and Chris paused their advance, sprinting to get out of the way as the van sped in their direction. Still avoiding the Kanima as it perched itself on the hood, swiping it’s claws forward in hopes of making contact, the van came to a sudden halt once it drove straight into the brick wall of the building.

Upon impact, Riley was thrust forward as her hands shot out to stop herself from propelling forward into the dashboard. All seemed to fall into a still silence as she winced against the ringing within her own ears. Her whole body seemed to ache as a result, wincing against the sharp fluorescent lights as she blindly reached her hand out for Allison. The brunette beside her was stiff, though her wide, doe—like eyes were strained on what lay behind the shattered windshield. Allison’s heart palpitated viciously within her chest, feeling the throb of her temple from where her head had hit the steering wheel. Beyond the broken glass before them, she kept her eyes locked onto the Kanima’s limp frame.

It was sprawled across the smashed hood of the van, the brick wall dented from the crash. _“Did—did I kill him?”_ Allison breathed unevenly in a small whisper.

Riley felt herself choke on her own reply, unable to tell as she studied it’s contorted body with fearful eyes. The passenger side door suddenly opened then, craning her head to find Derek as he pried the bent metal back, bridging the space dividing them before he reached his arm forward to wrap around her shoulders. Her pace was slow as she began to extract herself from the seat, feeling the ache within her legs begin to form as she stood on her own two feet. “Are you hurt?” Derek asked, appraising her with cautious eyes as he raked them up and down her body. She shook her head with uncertainty, Unable to feel anything beside the pain pulsing beneath the skin of her knees. She found comfort in the way his arms wound around her then, shifting her forward as her forehead rested against his chest with relief. His shirt was torn at the collar, fresh and bloodied wounds seeping through the black henley he wore.

Her head shifted back over her shoulder, looking toward the cab of the van as Allison’s father consoled her in nearly the exact way Derek did with her. She heard Scott mention from ahead of them, his hand splayed upon the Kanima’s shoulder. “He’s still breathing.”


	26. Beacon of Bad Thing's

If there was one thing Riley Haven was sure of, it was that fate seemed to have a cruel way of bringing people together. In most cases, people would make friends while bonding over shared hobbies. They would experience a connection built on teenage angst and life outside of a shared classroom. But not in this case, not when she’d found her niche of friends among the horrors of what seemed to lurk within this small town.

If not for Beacon Hill’s unusual spike in animal attacks, perhaps she’d never would have met the people she found herself the closest too. And in a normal world, it was typical to find a significant other in the daily passings of time. Like locking eyes on a crowded subway for instance, or ordering the same drink in a busy cafe. Fate seemed to work in mysterious ways, though it had time and time again brought her closer to Derek Hale.

The gruesome event of her mothers murder had caused a ripple effect, without that substantial moment in Riley’s life, she never would have moved to Beacon Hills. She never would have befriended Scott, Stiles or Allison. She never would have met Derek Hale. She never would have almost been torn apart by her friends ex—boyfriend.

And despite the cruelness these past few months had thrown at her, Riley Haven had a feeling that she’d come to the right place at the right time. As if she’d been destined for this life. _As if this town had drawn her here._

It had been a full week now since the happenings of that night, finding it easier to overcome the toxic nature of it’s warpath and learn from it. “Jackson’s going to be alright.” Derek reminded her, using his thumb to ease the crease embedded into the skin between her brows. She seemed worried. Her body emanating an anxious wave of emotion as if she were drowning in it.

But hearing him say it seemed to ease some of that tension idling in her bones. Jackson had healed from his wounds, but that wasn’t necessarily what made up most of Riley’s concern. Her anxiety ran deeper than that, wondering nervously if he’d be the same now that he was no longer a puppet in someone else's war. Gerard had fled town, whether he was going to die from the bite or not, Riley wasn’t sure. But it felt less tense without the Argent in Beacon Hills.

After he’d fled, Gerard had severed his mindful connection to the Kanima, leaving Jackson free from control for the first time in his supernatural life. “It’s all over.” Riley agreed purposefully as she leaned her head against Derek’s shoulder. They resided at her apartment for the night, buried beneath the covers of her bed as the clock rounded just past midnight. “But I have this feeling,” she enunciated, “that it’s not _really_ over.”

“It usually never is.” Derek murmured, his arm wrapped around her back as he drew lazy circles along her spine with his fingers. “In my experience, when one door closes, usually an equally awful one opens again.”

Though this town had seen it’s fair share of bloodshed over the years, there hadn’t seemed to be a moment of calm ever since Riley Haven arrived. Her arrival seemed to have sparked a spiraling of circumstances. Derek had even gone as far as to call her the ‘ _Beacon of Bad Things_ ’.

He felt her sigh into his neck then, “I just wish things would slow down.” She confessed, her eyes becoming heavy as she hunted for peaceful sleep.

Derek nodded slowly in agreement, a heavy weight of guilt that he’d been shouldering recently seemed to get the best of him. He thought about the role she’d been playing in his life the past few months, and how it felt as if the targets on his back had broadened onto hers. Feeling as if he’d been the reason for the countless trouble she’d been dealt, he couldn’t help but wonder if her safety would have been spared if they had never met.

Despite his concern, he felt her hand trail over his chest before slipping into his. A sign of her approval despite his silence. “You know what you’re risking.” Derek suddenly whispered, though her eyes were shut as she teetered on the brink of sleep. “I might not be worth it in the end.”

He deemed his life unworthy in comparison to hers, but Riley seemed to think otherwise. “I’ll take my chances.” She mumbled tiredly, her breath fanning against his neck as she quietly fell asleep within his arms. His touch was like a safety net, gently lulling her back to the ground as she soared into a peaceful slumber.

**###**

**###**

**AN:** We're finally done with season 2! Im so excited to share the rest of Riley's journey with you guys! I'm currently working on Season 6, the FINAL season of this series and all I can say is . . . you all have a lot to look forward to!

Leave me a review to let me know how excited you are for Season 3! And what you'd like to see!

-Ashley


	27. A Swift Summer

**Summer - May**

  
Digging the palm of her hand into her eyes, Riley Haven rubbed away the drowsiness that still clung to her tingling lids. Wrestling with sleep for the better part of the night before, she couldn’t help but replay the thoughts warping throughout her restless mind. Like a record glitching, she found the echo of her thoughts to be the reasoning behind her fogged state of mind. Yet she did not complain as she stretched the lean limb of her arms over her head.

The muscle in her body had grown much denser these days, though she owed it all to the countless hours she’d spent at Derek’s side. While he’d spent nearly every waking hour of his day training Jackson Whittemore the ins and outs of being a werewolf, Riley hadn’t hesitated to help him see it through. And today was no exception.

Swishing a mouthful of ice cold water within her mouth, she took a moment to glance at the beta warming up before her. Jackson seemed enthralled at the beginning of each new day, because it felt as if he had to prove himself over and over again. A new day simply meant a new beginning, and after all Jackson had endured this past year . . . He needed an outlet of sorts. A way to blow off his frustration without having a ticking time bomb chirp away inside his lungs.

He never spoke of what he’d done, but somehow, Riley knew he didn’t need to. Behind the mask he wore, it wasn’t hard to see just how worn out he felt. Mostly emotionally. So riddled with guilt because of the blood his own hands had spilt, but he’d never be the one to tell them that.

Covering that distinct emotion with a mask of thrill, he stood to face Riley with squared shoulders. With a roll of her eyes, Riley balanced her hands on her hips as she paced along the cement of the abandoned railroad station. It’s where Derek and Isaac still resided . . . Where he called home.

“Try not to cry when you lose.” Jackson implied, his blue eyes narrowing in her direction.

Her pace came to a halt, curling her tongue against her cheek to keep herself from spitting back an even nastier insult. His incessant need to prove he was the best at everything he did always seemed to be his inevitable downfall.

Instead, Riley gripped the ring dagger from the waist band of her athletic pants and twirled it threatening over her index finger. The safety seal was snapped over the sharpened point of the blade, ensuring no blood would be drawn on accident . . . Or even purposefully.

They’d just come back from their break, where Jackson had spent the better part of an hour gloating about how his tactics as a werewolf were growing. He was prepared to put them to the test now, feeling mighty high on his horse after thwarting off Riley’s staged attacks all morning. Perhaps these drills weren’t just for Jackson’s benefit, to ensure he could fight and survive against a hunter, but for Riley’s as well.

Because it taught her power. It taught her how to utilize her techniques and how to assess danger in a timely manner that would ultimately buy her enough time to win. For Derek, these sessions seamed like a two—for—one deal. Teaching Jackson to fight was hard enough, but using Riley as his opponent seemed to strengthen both of them in the end.

Derek approached the platform from Riley’s peripheral, his eyes insistent as they caught hers. “A hunter,” he mentored her before looking back to Jackson, “will do whatever it takes to bring down whatever is terrorizing them. They fight dirty,” he ensured, “but not always smarter. Use that to your advantage.” He encouraged the Beta. “If it’s life or death, neither of you can hold back. It’s kill or be killed.”

Jackson nodded, though he bounced on the balls of his feet, warming himself up, as if he hadn’t been listening to begin with. Its usually how every session at Derek’s went. Jackson held his head high as if he were so sure of himself. And every time, it took Riley a good three or four tries to knock him off his pedestal.

Locking her fist around the handle of her dagger, using it merely as a prop, Riley shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet as she awaited Derek’s signal to begin again. So overly aware of the nerves that rattled in her own bones, Riley focused her energy into going up against Jackson. Hoping to use it as a crutch to help manifest her anxious energy into something constructive, she missed the slight waive of Derek’s hand to proceed.

Her body hesitated as she saw Jackson barreling towards her, his crisp, blue eyes dead set on her still frame. And though her body refused to bend at her will, she kept her eyes steadily latched onto his frame. He shifted left and right, hoping to confuse her, but after having gone against him day after day for nearly three weeks, she knew his strategy well.

Bounding up the length of the platform, as if he were the predator and Riley was the prey, he moved with speed that was often times hard to keep up with. Jackson was fast, but he used his brute force without taking strategic measures into consideration. Despite being nearly sixty pounds heavier than her, Riley wasn’t afraid of him giving it his all. Though she was smaller, she used her mind to analyze his movement and decide on a suitable maneuver to out—smart him.

As he grew closer, she watched him bound off the last pillar leading to her, flipping through the air as if he wanted to impress Derek, before lunging straight for Riley. He kept his hands free of claws, though his hands still remained rigid. Curled as if he wished to wrap them around her neck and gloat that he’d won yet another match.

Riley stood her ground, weapon poised defensively as Jackson’s frame came tumbling down upon her. She fell to her back with a thud, feeling the hard pavement wedge between her shoulders. Buried beneath Jackson’s weight, in the second it took for him to right himself, straightening his stance, Riley gathered all the strength she could muster and maneuvered from his grasp, rolling them both over until she had the upper hand.

Her thighs strained against his waist, keeping herself tethered above him as he shifted his hips to dislodge her from atop of him. And before he could consider an alternative route, she had her dagger pressed against his throat. And for a second it was silent, just their own heavy breaths of heated air spilling from their lungs as Riley cocked her brow at him. Taunting him with her well deserved win before she pulled her weapon clad hand from his neck.

And suddenly Jackson’s hands shoved at her shoulders, pushing her off of him as he stood up swiftly. “You cheated.” He accused sorely, dusting himself off as Derek stepped between them hastily. These lessons had a tendency to go sour if Jackson did not get his way. Having to step between them more often than not to keep an actual fight from brewing.

He couldn’t accept losing . . . Especially to Riley Haven.

“Knock it the hell off.” Derek demanded with a curt tone.

Behind him, Riley got to her feet with a twisted expression. She wore it for a second, rolling out her shoulder as if it would help ease the blow from being shoved a little too hard. Jackson had a way of not keeping his aggression in check, and it often times resulted in black and blue bruises adorning the soft flesh of Riley’s skin. But she took it, because she knew the reaction Jackson would want is for her to feed off his impulsive anger.

Jackson huffed, waiving his arm out at Derek in disbelief as he backtracked towards the edge of the platform. “What’s gotten into you, huh?” The Alpha pointed out as Jackson took a swig of his water and spit it out at Derek’s feet. “You’re somehow a bigger asshole than you were before.” Sure, Jackson had always been an inconsiderate person who fed off seeing people cower at his sight, but it never compared to this.

Without facing him, Jackson simply gave a short laugh and shook his head. “Did it ever once occur to you,” he huffed, “that maybe she’s the problem?” He pointed an accusing hand to the girl shifting to Derek’s side.

His words ignited a heated expression to lace over Derek’s face. “Oh,” Derek mocked, his bushy brows rising and knitting together, “so you lost!” He feigned a pitiful look. “You’re really that butt—hurt about it?”

From Riley’s stance at Derek’s side, she could have sworn she could see the tension ebbing from Jackson’s heated frame. His right hand curled into a fist, his body beginning to tremble with anger. And as she watched Jackson unravel with animosity, she knew she couldn’t be the reason for his aggression. Something else was going on.

Suddenly, he lunged from his stance across from Derek, his fist swinging towards his face. He should have known better than to go against a wolf with decades more experience. Dodging the swing of his fist, Derek wrapped his hands around the collar of the Beta’s t—shirt. A snarl erupted from his lungs, thrusting him back until he had him pinned between his weight and the chipped and cracked pillar at the edge of the platform.

Jackson’s eyes glowed a gut—churning shade of blue, feeling Derek’s knuckles wedge beneath his jaw. A growl sprouted from his exposed fangs, aimed at the Alpha before him. But Derek held him steady, waiting for his grunts to turn into gasps, before his neon blue eyes faded back into a defeated oceanic hue.

“You’re not angry.” Derek suddenly said, his nostrils flaring as he took in the Betas chemo—signals. “You’re stressed.” His hands released Jackson’s collar then, taking a step back as he placed his arms over his chest. “Why are you really so worked up?” He demanded.

Jackson rubbed at his throat, catching his breath as his head bowed beneath the command from the werewolf before him. Even though he did not align himself within a particular pack, the weight of an Alpha’s voice still sent a ripple of fear down his spine. He could feel his hands shake from the sensation, the sweat bleeding through his skin like an open wound before he dared look at Derek Hale again.

“My—“ he stammered momentarily, “my dad got a job offer.” He let his stare fall from theirs, straining them on the sneakers adorning his feet as he shifted uneasily. “I’ll be moving in a few days.”

It came as a shock as Riley stepped forward. “To where?”

“London.” He mentioned timidly, rubbing out the ache in the back of his neck. His father was a lawyer, and perhaps London had more to offer than the small town of Beacon Hills.

And suddenly a weight gathered on Derek’s shoulders. Jackson was no prepared for what his new—found abilities consisted of, and now he’d have to face them on his own. The Beta was his responsibility, feeling as if all he’d taught him in this short amount of time would not be enough to ensure not only his own safety, but anyone living within France.

Jackson Whittemore was not ready.

 

 

**###**

**###**

 

 

  
The Beta’s confession weighed heavily on Riley as she trudged up the steps of the Stilinski’s home. Without even bothering to knock on the door, she let herself in. It did not phase John as he waived at her from his seat on the couch, watching a baseball game with low enthusiasm. Perhaps his team was loosing, or maybe the heaviness he carried from being the Sheriff was finally getting to him. It was hard to be sure. But she waived back in a small motion, matching his shy smile with her own before she headed down the hallway toward Stiles’ bedroom. Riley was undeniably familiar with which door was his, heading toward the far end of the hall that curved toward the back of the house until she saw it. It still adorned a red stop sign, as if that would keep the sheriff from snooping through his room from time to time.

She propped open the door before closing it behind her, finding both of her best friends laying on Stiles’ bed. They had comics in their hands, swapping them back and forth between each other as if they were showcasing the scenes plastered on the pages. They were boys being boys. Kids being kids. It’s what their days usually looked like during summer vacation. The sound of Stiles laughter echoed in her ears for a second as she put down her bag, taking a seat on the carpeted floor before them.

The music they played wasn’t something she was familiar with, but the beat was on a tempo she could get behind.

Keeping her eyes on them, watching them fool around like brothers, it made everything that had happened this past school year seem unreal. Scott smiled so wide that the dimple in his cheek grew deeper than she’d ever seen before. And his eyes crinkled from the pressure of his grin. From an outsiders perspective, they never would have guessed what any of them had been through. And perhaps it was better that way.

Riley then felt the small pelts of popcorn as they brushed the skin of her cheeks, coming out of her daze to see Stiles with a guilty expression. She’d zoned out for a moment, having spent a second in time to absorb the warmth they seemed to bring her. “Check this out.” He said, offering her a magazine that was opened to a particular page.

She grabbed it thoughtfully at first, ignoring his glimmering eyes as she looked at the rough sketch the artist of the comic had drawn of a woman. Her outfit was scantily clad, the cleavage of her chest so overly drawn that it made Riley roll her eyes. “This isn’t proportionally accurate.” She assured him . . . Tossing the magazine over her shoulder as it landed on the ground and out of Stiles’ sight. She’d never understand the over—sexualization of woman in comics.

Scott shook his head, though his uneven smile suggested he agreed with her.

Nights like this had become their summer ritual. The venue always changed from Stiles to Scott’s house and even to Riley’s if need be. They’d sit for hours talking, reading, watching movies . . . Just being kids. It felt like a strange concept to them these days. As if being kids wasn’t in their cards, but it was tonight. And Riley wasn’t going to let anything ruin that.

Scott McCall’s phone buzzed loudly then, situated on the pillow that divided both he and Stiles. Riley had never seen Scott reach for it so quick, but Stiles was quicker. _“Nuh—huh!”_ He chided as he held his best friends phone within his hands. He held it out of Scott’s reach, though the werewolf did make an attempt to grab it back. “It’s not even from her.” He assured Scott, hoping that reading his texts would get him to settle back down.

At his words, Scott’s expression became defeated, as if he were let down by the news.

Pursing her lips in sympathy, matching her friends tender gaze with her own, Riley remembered him talking about Allison just the week before. The Argent had ended their relationship on a whim after the night of Jackson’s rebirth. Everything just felt too heavy for her to carry . . . She couldn’t add Scott’s burdens to that. It had been a hard wake up for for Allison. To know that her own grandfather had despised the supernatural so much, that he’d filled her head with lies. It was his way of getting her on his side. And for a while it had worked. He’d used Allison like a guard dog, doing his own bidding when his own withered hands could not.

And even when the school year had ended, Allison hadn’t reached out to any of them. From what Riley knew, Allison felt lost. Unsure of how to move on after the loss of her mother and the backstabbing of her grandpa. No one had heard from her yet, and Riley knew that when the time came, Scott would most likely be the last one to know. “Maybe—“ Scott stopped his voice suddenly, swallowing the thickness in his throat, “May—maybe I should text her first.”

  
Stiles shook his head, squinting his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. _“No.”_ He said vehemently. “Absolutely not.” He then chucked the phone within his hand towards the chair in the corner of his room. Perhaps the distance between Scott and it would dissolve any temptation.

When Allison was ready, they knew she’d come back around.

  
**###**

**###**

  
**Summer - June**

  
Another month passed, despite Jackson having moved on, Derek continued his lessons with Riley. He sparred with her almost every day, helping her muscle retention grow, hoping she’d gain enough knowledge of self defense to keep herself alive. After what he’d seen happen to her, how defenseless she’d looked at the beckon of chaos, Derek knew he needed to teach her these things. Things that Chris Argent couldn’t. Who else would be able to show her the defensive nature of a werewolf, other than a werewolf itself? Besides the training, everything else had stayed the same. It felt like it anyway. Her perception of it seemed to be only one sided. For her, it felt stagnant. As if time wasn’t moving. But for others, it was a constant stream of happenings. “How long will you be gone for?” She asked suddenly, looking up at Derek as her balled fists continued to jab into his palms. He’d broken the news to her earlier that day.

At the collar of Derek’s neck, a pool of sweat had begun to form. They’d been at this now for hours. “Just a few days.” He promised her, but refused to meet her gaze. He focused on the strength behind each of her punches, feeling her knuckles dive into his palms time and time again.

His answer seemed to displease her, noticing her motivation begin to crumble. “You were gone all last weekend.” She reminded. “And the weekends before that.” Her tone seemed sour, almost skeptical of his answers as he dodged her questions. “Where the hell are you even going?”

 _“Camping.”_ He said automatically, like he did every other time. “With Isaac.” He’d taken in the Beta months ago, raising him like he would a brother. He hoped his answers would ward off her suspicion, but it only made it grow denser.

His answers frustrated her, raising her knee suddenly as she jabbed it into his palm. He felt the force behind it, it was strong . . . Her body reeked of irritation. _“Bullshit.”_ She seethed under her breath, feeling the sweat build up at her temples as she reached both of her hands out, gripping his cotton t—shirt firmly and shoving him back.

He lost his footing over a stray piece of metal, falling over as Riley tumbled down above him. She straddled his waist, continuing to jab her hands at his open palms that covered his face. He liked when she got into it, when she lost herself in the session and tried to show him what she was capable of. He liked when she got rough. When she got angry. In more instances than not, her anger fueled her instinct to win.

A final grunt sounded from her gritted teeth, her momentum slowing as Derek caught her last swinging fist in his hand. They stayed there for a moment, her breathing rattling her bones, feeling her tremor above her until she evened her breaths again. She was tired, worn out from the sparring, that all she could do was look down at him discontentedly. “What are you really doing?” She asked, her voice breathless and hair matted with sweat.

Feeling confined beneath her, trapped in her gaze, he found that he could not lie to her again.

Her fist unraveled in his hands, twining her fingers between his as her hard stare become soft. It became pleading. “I’m still trying to find Boyd and Erica.” He confessed vulnerably. Before the summer, after the hunters had declared war, his own Beta’s had turned their backs on him. They’d decided to run. “No one’s heard from either of them in months. Not even their parents.” Riley frowned at him, her lips pursing in understanding as she slid off of his waist and took a seat on the cement beside him. Derek sat up, straightening his shirt as he kept his stare focused on his hands. “I could have sworn I caught his scent.” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “But it—it just disappeared again.”

Fiddling her own hands together, she hung her head in sorrow. _“You think something happened to them.”_ She figured. They’d disappeared the night of the semi—finals, yet their scent still clung heavily to this town.

“They’re my Beta’s.” Derek murmured. “They’re my responsibility.”

He put a lot of hope into these weekend recovery missions, but each time he’d come back empty handed. With a heavy mind, he hoped that this weekend would offer him something different. That he’d be able to say with certainty where they were and where they’d been. But this undeniable doubt clouded his mind, like a promise made to the wind, that his time searching for them was a lost cause.

Derek didn’t want to believe that.

  
**###**

**###**

  
**Summer - July**

  
A yawn tore its way up Riley’s throat as she ascended the stairs to her second story apartment. She felt heavier than usual, a sign of a busier day at work as the roll of tip money she’d earned fit snuggly within her jean pocket. And though today had been better than yesterday, it didn’t seem like enough. Working full time the past few months had given her a head start on her rent, but she wondered how long that might last. Surely not for longer than she hoped. And that thought ate away at her, a constant reminder that she needed to find another source of income.

With her senior year fast approaching, she knew she’d have to make time for her studies, but she couldn’t seem to focus on them even if she wanted to. She hated to think of what would happen if she lost her job. How she’d afford her home. How she wouldn’t let the stress of it all start her new school year off on a bad note.

She tiredly stared down at her worn out welcome mat outside her front door, fumbling with her keys as she unlocked the deadbolt and stepped inside. She left the lights off more often than on with the hopes that her electric bill wouldn’t cause such a dent in her savings. The number in her bank account seemed to dwindle little by little each day . . . It caused a tight lodge to form in her throat. And as soon as she turned the lights on inside of her apartment, a scream tore its way through her plump lips. _“Happy Birthday!”_ Two figures grinned back at her, their voices booming with surprise. Her initial fear of seeing two figures idling in her apartment caused her to clench her chest, studying their faces well enough before a gasp of relief sounded from her lungs.

Scott and Stiles both stood in the center of her home, their expressions playful as they wore cone—shaped birthday hats upon their heads. Riley hurriedly shut her apartment door behind her, hoping to steer away any confrontation between her nosy neighbors as she looked to them incredulously. "You scared the hell out of me.” She insinuated, wiping the cold sweat from her face. “How did you two even get in here?”

“The window.” Stiles remarked, glancing over to her open window along the far wall of her studio apartment.

She couldn’t help herself as her thoughts drifted back to that same window nearly four months ago, how it had been the reason Matt Daehler had taken those pictures of her. How he’d climbed the same tree both of her friends had. And a shiver radiated up the length of her spine, wondering what would have happened if he’d had the balls to break in like Scott and Stiles had. “You two are idiots.” She huffed, sliding off her jacket before tossing it on her unkept bed.

“Two idiots who made you a cake.” Scott said with a charmed smile. There was something about his big, puppy—dog eyes that Riley couldn’t hate. The two boys moved, showcasing the cake pan on the counter of Riley’s kitchen. She approached it with crossed arms, still undecided on if she should yell at them or thank them. She’d hoped to go about today as if it were just another one to dread, and she’d been so close to making it through the night unnoticed. She hadn’t told a soul about the date of birth ever since she’d stepped foot in that town.

A snort of laughter bubbled up in her throat, seeing the poorly baked birthday cake idling on her counter. It was charred around the edges, a thick layer of frosting slathered over every inch in hopes it would cover up it’s bitter taste. The sprinkles were piled up in it’s center, as if they’d dumped out the entire container without evenly dispersing them. It was a pathetic attempt at a dessert . . . But Riley accepted the offering by finally cracking a small grin herself. “Gordon Ramsey would be proud.” She nodded, weaving around them as she dug for silverware inside her kitchen drawer. She handed them each a plastic fork, watching as they tore into the cake pan eagerly.

The night seemed to fade faster than she had anticipated. Perhaps what they said was true, time sure did fly when you were having fun. Surrounded by her two best friends, she couldn’t imagine why she’d decided to spend the day alone in the first place. Maybe it was the fear of turning nineteen. Of making it through her first birthday without her mother. It had felt unbearably harder this morning, but once accompanied by the presence of both Scott and Stiles, she found that the ache of grief was the furthest thing from her mind.

Mental illness always worked in mysterious ways . . . _In her experience at least._

And it wasn’t until she was walking both of her friends to their cars, the hour rounding just past midnight, that she began to feel the darkness closing in. The inevitable pit of despair weaving forward inside of her head, probing at her thoughts as she watched them both get inside the powder—blue Jeep that belonged to Stiles. The depression seemed to cloud her, like a warning sign before a natural disaster, she felt it loop around her throat like a noose. Why was tonight any different than any other night? Surely she’d feel some form of dread from time to time, but it felt more heinous this time around. As if it had been stowed away like a rabid dog inside it’s kennel, chomping viciously at the caged doors. Just waiting for the moment it was felt again.

Riley wrapped her arms around her chest, the night air more brisk than usual as she waived at her friends pulling out of their parking spot.

And as if on queue, once the Jeep disappeared around the corner, another car’s headlights flashed as it pulled into the entrance of her apartment complex. It’s black paint glimmered beneath the lights adorning the parking ramada. It’s tires made a quiet squeal as it stopped at her side. Riley didn’t have to see the driver to know who was behind the wheel, offering a perplexed expression once the passenger side window rolled down. “What are you doing here?” She asked with a curled lip.

Idling in the drivers seat was Derek Hale, his head bent low in order to see her through the open window. He’d been gone since yesterday, the fifth weekend he’d gone out of town in search for Boyd and Erica. “I came back when Stiles texted me about your surprise party.” He implied, though his tone remained torn. He hadn’t known of the date surrounding her birth, because it never had come up in conversation before. Of course he’d wondered, but had never found a simple way to bring it up. It was to his surprise that he received that text earlier that morning, and he couldn’t help but feel like an idiot for not being in the loop to begin with.

He didn’t question it when Riley joined him in the cab of his car, figuring he’d park and they’d have an opportunity to talk. But he didn’t, the engine to the car kept rumbling beneath their feet as he idled in the parking lot of her apartment complex. “Are you mad?” She asked, her hands fidgeting in her lap as they sat in darkness together.

Derek could never think of any reason he could ever be mad at her, so he shook his head, keeping his eyes on his steering wheel. “I wish you would have been the one to tell me.” He explained, showcasing his disdain from having to hear about her birthday through the grapevine. Growing up, his family had made each birthday a big deal. His mother would spend the morning baking. His father would gift him with a different heirloom, passed down through generation upon generation of their family. And his sisters would craft him a card, and together they’d praise the birth of a werewolf. _They’d praise the gift of life._

He couldn’t imagine not passing on that tradition to his own loved ones.

 _“Birthday’s were never a big deal . . .”_ She trailed off sadly, pressing her lips into a thin and unsure line.

And it showed, right there, just how differently they’d been raised. How her view of importance was so much more obscured than his. He’d been raised to cherish moments like those, considering the fact that their kind were always so easily taken from their lives too soon. “Tell me what you want.” He said then, hoping a materialistic item would showcase his devotion in more ways than he could explain. He could see that she was going to shake her head, that she was going to deny his privilege of offering her something as a token of his endearment. Perhaps it was the serious gleam within his eyes that made her think twice, toying with the sleeve of her shirt as she felt the continuous rumble of the car engine below.

It hit her then, what she’d be willing to accept in terms of a gift. “Let me drive the Camaro.” She insisted sternly. Months ago, before their relationship had formed into something neither of them could still quite define, he’d told her she could take the wheel over his dead body. His car had been his prized possession, holding onto it more than what was normal, in fear that it too would perish. Just like everything else good in his life.

Hesitating for only a second as he deliberated his response, he suddenly got out of the drivers seat without saying a word. Riley followed, extracting herself from the passenger side as Derek took a seat where he’d never had before. He’d had no reason to, not until now. Not until the girl that he loved challenged him for the spot behind the wheel. One he was sure he’d give up time and time again if she asked.

Riley slid into the drivers seat slowly, taking her time to feel the smooth leather brush against her thighs. As if the leather had been molded perfectly to fit Derek’s athletic frame. The view from the drivers side window seemed more clear as she wrapped her dainty hands around the steering wheel. Sitting behind the wheel took her back to a memory she still remained fond of. Of when her father allowed her to drive a sports car for the first time. How it had rumbled to life like the belly of a starving lion. How smooth it drove along the cracked asphalt. How the impact of it’s hood felt once she’d crashed it into a stop sign. She tightened her grasp at the memory, afraid to let go as if the car would drift into an accident.

The click of Derek’s seat belt brought her back, buckling her own with hasty hands before placing her foot upon the break pedal. Derek waived his hand forward, as if to grant her control of where she drove it to. And she obliged by cranking the gear shift into drive, slowing releasing her foot from the break as it rolled forward easily. He did not speak as she pulled out of the apartment complex and merged onto the main roads. They were vacant now as she placed her foot lightly on the gas, liking how the pavement seemed to blur as they breezed further towards town. And as Riley sat behind the wheel, she found that it wasn’t the gift of getting to drive that she had initially asked for. It was his trust. A sign that perhaps this relationship wasn’t so one sided. That he trusted her more than he’d even trusted anyone in the six years following the fire.

But this . . . _This was a start._

Riley stomped her foot upon the break pedal then, barely missing the stop sign idling in her peripheral. Out of instinct, Derek’s arm shot out across her chest, before he sighed with relief. His arm drifted down to her lap instead, the palm of his hand settling on the exposed skin of her right thigh. Shuffling her head back and forth, eyeing down both streets, Riley proceeded further down the street. It was straight shot of asphalt for almost another mile, placing her foot heavier against the gas pedal, just to see how much faster she could push the Camaro. A laugh bubbled from her throat as Derek’s hand turned rigid, his claw like grip on her thigh signaling his slight discomfort as the speedometer inched toward the eighty mark.

But the sound that escaped her lips was worth it, becoming so transfixed in the side profile of her growing smile, his palm began to relax. He kept his eyes on her, taking in the moment of time as her hair fluttered from the fast breeze striding past her open window. How her lips broke apart and exposed her glimmering teeth. How she looked carefree for the first time in a while. Without giving it much thought, his palm skimmed higher up her thigh, his pinky teetering on the rolled cuff of her shorts. The tightness in his throat felt harder to swallow, able to pinpoint the blip within the beat of her heart. She was nervous. _She was excited_.

Though her clench upon the wheel tightened, she glanced at Derek for a second, hoping to see his intentions a little more clearly. His lips curled up at one side, the black scruff of his beard clinging to his raised cheek as his gray—green eyes bore into hers. A second was all it took as the straight shot of road suddenly curved, as the car continued going straight. The car lurched against the gravel it had transitioned to, feeling the ripple of the impact just a mere second after the hood of the car embedded itself around the curve of a street light pole.

The air bag deployed, feeling the sheer pressure of its release pry into her chest. The seat belt locked, feeling her body being thrown forward like a rag doll, before settling back into the drivers seat. And all was silent for a few haggard breaths, collecting themselves from the accident that stole the breath from their lungs. Riley felt her leg cramp, but it was not out of pain. Her toes wiggled instinctively, allowing a heavy lungful of air to escape through her nose. Her head felt heavy as she lolled it back against the seat, her eyes shifting from the warped hood of the car just outside the windshield, to Derek, who remained seated in the passenger seat.

The sound of contorting metal finally came to a stop, the only sounds echoing were from the panting breaths escaping their own chests.

 

**###**

**###**

 

It felt like the hundredth time Derek had pressed his cellphone to his ear, trying to find cell service as he paced along the gravel beside his totaled car. He hadn’t told Riley out right just how mad he was, but Riley could feel the upset energy clinging to him as he passed by her time and time again. The night was brisk as she sat upon the back bumper, fiddling with her own phone with the hopes that her text messages to Stiles would go through. Regardless of the headache etched into the crown of her head, she did not complain about it. And the tightness she felt upon her left shoulder, where the seat belt had strained against her skin, she could feel a tenderness below that only ensured her of an oncoming bruise. She wanted to blame him for the accident, for distracting her, but she knew in the pits of her stomach she had no one else to blame but herself.

Derek huffed, kicking a clump of dirt when his cell phone call did not go through again. He’d been trying endlessly to get ahold of the towns tow—truck company, but with no avail, he wondered how long both he and Riley would be stuck out there until someone drove by. And in the back of his mind, he wondered if anyone driving by would stop for them. Or would they keep driving once they say the infamous Camaro wrapped around a pole? People in this town hadn’t shown him the greatest kindness. Even though it had been his family who had built the foundation they stood on.

A flash of lights caught his attention then, the bones in his body seeming to stiffen as a red and blue haze caught his eye. Riley came down from her perch upon the bumper, taking a defensive stance near the hood of the car beside Derek. The werewolf seemed to backtrack a bit once an officer parked at their side. And of all the people who it could have been, Riley ground her teeth at the sight of John Stilinski emerging from his squad car. “You guys okay?” He asked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness before her found the familiar face of his sons best friend. He rose a brow, his hand half—extended out toward her in surprise.

Riley nodded, still unsure of the definition of _‘okay’_ , before she spoke. “Y—yeah.” She nodded finally, throwing a thumb over her shoulder towards the wreck. “Just a little car trouble.”

John Stilinski took note of the late hour from the watch on his wrist. It was nearing two in the morning now as he eyed the car with disbelief. “A—“ he snorted, “a _little_ car trouble?” He pegged questionably. “How the hell did you even manage to wrap it around a pole?”

The street light above seemed to beam down on her, making her uncomfortably agitated as she wrung her hands together nervously. Derek still idled behind her, his back turned toward the Sheriff in fear that he’d recognize him. He and John Stilinski had a history of misunderstanding. Time and time again, when chaos seemed to unravel in their town, the finger always seemed to be pointed at him. John wouldn’t call Derek a heathen . . . He felt as if that term wasn’t strong enough.

And when Riley couldn’t quite seem to answer John’s speculating question, Derek finally found the nerve to turn to face John. “It was an accident, Sir.” He ensured. “I lost control of the car.”

The Sheriff shifted his gaze from Riley, to the burly built man that idled behind her. And without really registering it, his hand moved instinctively to the holster at his hip. Derek took notice, standing taller, with his shoulders squared and fists balled before Riley seemed to step in between them. Despite Derek having been exonerated every time his name came up in an investigation, he couldn’t help but think that next time he’d finally be able to put him behind bars.

And Derek took full responsibility for the accident, looking John directly in the eyes without any hesitancy. He knew Riley would have spoken up eventually, apologizing for her erratic driving, but he knew her spur of the moment birthday gift had left her without any of her credentials. It was his way of keeping her name from being dragged through the mud.

Derek’s presence left John rattled, squinting his hard baby blue eyes at the Alpha before speaking again. “I’m gonna need to see a license and registration.” His tone was deep, trying to seem like the big bad sheriff he wanted to be seen as. He was prepared for Derek Hale’s reluctancy, hoping he’d be able to book him for obstruction, until he saw the man nod his head, cooperating to his surprise, before heading towards the passenger side seat of his Camaro to dig through his glove compartment.

And once he was out of sight, John Stilinski approached Riley with a concerned look. “Are you okay?” He asked with a knowing look, his tender hand squeezing against her upper arm. He shot nervous glances towards Derek, who continued to search through his paperwork for the ones John needed. “If you’re in a bad situation,” he whispered, “and you can’t get out of, you can tell me.”

Riley blinked back with a confused expression. It took her a second to catch on, able to identify the disdain behind John’s stare each time he glanced towards Derek, and how his blue eyes would soften when he directed them back to her. _“What?”_ She asked incredulously, almost with a laugh. “You think I’m being held against my will?”

John didn’t confirm his assumption, but simply tilted his head with a worrisome expression. The Sheriff nearly flinched then as Derek approached, paperwork and his license in hand as he handed it to him. He took them with a snag of his fist, heading back towards his squad car to input the information. A part of him wished that perhaps his tags were expired, or that his I.D. was a fake, or that his registration was a fraud.  Just so he could have a reason to bring him into the station. Derek Hale had grown significantly since he’d first seen him, six years ago at the age of fifteen when he’d had to explain to both him and his sister that his family had perished in a fire.

While John approached them then, annoyed that all of his paperwork was up to date, Derek slipped his hand inside of Riley’s. He intertwined them more for a show, having heard John’s speculation just moments prior. Did the Sheriff think that Riley was too good for a person like him . . . Because often times Derek thought the same thing. John handed Derek back his paperwork, grinding his teeth at seeing their hands clasped together as they stood side by side. Perhaps it wasn’t his place to question Riley’s reasonings for being with him, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with them. He cleared his throat then, craning his head to take another look at the wrecked Camaro that idled behind both Riley and Derek. “I’ll—uh,” the Sheriff stammered displeasingly, _“I’ll radio in for a tow truck.”_


	28. A Time of Reflection

**Summer - August**

Riley kept a steady rhythm as she wiped down the counters of her work space, mindfully counting down the last two hours before she could close. She’d been there since they’d opened at eight this morning, unsure of how she’d last a full twelve hours without so much as a ten minute break. She figured it had to do with the scarce amount of money in her bank account, hoping that pulling double shifts as often as she could throughout summer would help her keep a roof over her head.

A few patrons were seated at the tables in the small coffee shop, situated with a coffee in one hand as they worked over their laptops with the other. It wasn’t that strange of a sight to see, having people spend hours there at a time, working on whatever idled on the screen of their computers. A lot of them had been regulars since she’d started working there, learning their names and even going as far as to know their orders by heart. That was the great thing about working in a small town, you happened to know just about everyone who stepped in through the front door.

It was slow for a Tuesday, feeling confident enough to take on the night shift by herself as her two other employees clocked out. Once the summer had started, her manager had taken notice of her work ethic, having offered her the part time assistant manager position. Of course though, Riley was able to gain full time benefits by picking up as many extra shifts as she could. Her willingness to work provided her with a great position on the team, one she couldn’t fathom loosing.

The bell to the front door rang then, looking up in surprise as she watched Stiles and his father weave inside. It still felt odd to see John outside of his uniform, offering them a warm smile as they approached the counter. They were regulars too, coming in a few times a week to indulge in the bakery items displayed behind the counter. “Same as usual?” She asked them with a knowing grin.

They didn’t even have to respond, having known their favorites for the past eight months.

The freckle faced boy stuck his tongue out at her in return, playfully mocking her as she reached for the biggest cinnamon roll they had left, and placed it on a plate for him. “Don’t they ever give you a day off?” John questioned, taking note of how she was here ninety—nine percent of the times he came in.

Riley snorted, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the second to last blueberry scone for the sheriff, and tried not to notice the five dollar bill he placed into the tip jar sneakily. He did it every time, knowing that the night shift tips would always end up in her pocket. Riley rang them up then, ignoring the way Stiles seemed to shovel half of the cinnamon roll into his mouth in one try. “How would this place run without me?” She jokingly replied, handing John back his change.

He nodded in agreement. Out of all the baristas he seen work here, Riley was by—far his favorite. “Do you work tomorrow night?” Stiles asked, sucking the sugary icing from off his thumb. When Riley shook her head, he implied, “You should come over for dinner.”

Riley glanced back at John, pursing her lips at Stiles’ lack of authority, ignoring even having asked his father for permission. But his eyes were insistent as well, his slightly withered features silently extending out an invitation. “Come by around five?” He offered.

Nodding her head, it took her a second to realize before she stammered over her words. “Ooh, I actually have an interview for a second job.” She remembered. “But I could come by after?”

“A— _a second job_?” Stiles pondered with wide eyes.

He’d noticed how much she worked, unsure of how she was planning on holding down two jobs and make it through her Senior year. Riley pursed her lips and shrugged, toying mindlessly with her apron. “Bills don’t pay themselves.” She reminded. John frowned, despising the way this child had to grow up too soon. How she’d been tossed into the adult world much too soon. Regardless, he nodded at her offer to come later, only staying to chat for a moment longer before both he and his son headed out.

*******

*******

For that last hour of work, Riley continued her cleaning duties. Diligently sweeping up the front of the store, wiping down the tables and and changing out the trash bags. Ignoring the ache in her lower back after standing for the entirety of her shift, she began to break apart the coffee grinder before beginning to deep clean it.

She started this ritual towards the last ten minutes before closing, waiving off the last customer as they packed up their laptop and headed for the door.

For the first time in hours, she felt relief at the sudden sound of silence. The kind of silence that was accepting and sought for after hours upon hours of hearing the chatter of teeth as people spoke. Or the blaring of the steamer as she frothed her hundredth cup of milk. The silence seemed startling, but she welcomed it with a sigh of relief.

And in the last two minutes before she was able to close, Riley began to box up the remaining desserts idling behind the counter. She usually took them home, savoring them for as long a she could when she was unable to afford groceries for the week. That happened more often than not, concocting together strange left over ingredients to keep herself fueled through another day.

 _‘It was hard being an adult’_ , she summarized in her own head.

She may have been nineteen now, but she still felt trapped in the mindset of her sixteen year old self. The one with a safety net below them as they soared through life, but things were different now. Things had changed so unbearably much that, that net had been shredded with expectations Riley always seemed to fail to meet. Like ensuring her rent was paid on time and keeping her showers short, so that the bill did not rise above an amount she couldn’t afford.

Despite it all, she’d never be the type to ask for help.

Placing her boxed up goodies off to the side, Riley glanced at the clock as the last minute began to dwindle down to a few more seconds. She made her way from behind the counter, heading towards the door to flip the open sign to closed. And as her hand reached for the deadbolt on the door, preparing to lock up, a gentleman on the opposite side of the glass began to push the door open.

“I’m sorry Sir,” Riley spoke kindly, “but we close at nine.”

The door was propped open a crack as the man leaned his weight into it. His eyes were shielded by a thick pair of blocked out glasses, a cane firmly gripped in his right hand. “That’s quite alright,” he said, his tone smooth and velvety, “I won’t take long.”

He pushed the door open more as Riley buckled back at his passive—aggressive nature. His sandy blonde hair hung just over his forehead, his stature long and lean as he placed his hand on Riley’s shoulder. He hadn’t even asked for help to be guided toward the counter. It wasn’t hard for Riley to understand his attentions, hearing the click of his cane bounce against the tile as she lead him towards the register.

“Thank you.” He spoke softly once his hands gripped the edge of the counter. Riley took her stance back behind the register, grinding her teeth in slight irritation. He did not speak again for a few moments, his nimble fingers skimming over the tea—bag display propped to his right. His brows knitted together, as if he were deliberating on a flavor without relying on his sight. And after another moment, he decided on a small packet of earl—grey tea.

Riley prepared his hot water in a to—go cup, hoping he’d catch the hint as he silently began to construct his hot tea as if he’d done it a million times before. She kept her head down, unsure of if looking a sight impaired person in the eyes was considered disrespectful. But she couldn’t see them, hiding behind his glasses as if he were sensitive to the fluorescent lights upon the ceiling.

She hadn’t seen him before, which prompted her to ask, “Are you from around here?”

Unsure of how to phrase her question, it was the first thing that fell from her lips as the unknown man sipped his tea. He didn’t answer immediately, leaving Riley unsure as she gathered her nightly paperwork for her closing shift. “I use to be.” He finally said, leaning his elbows onto the counter as if he were about to settle in. “I’m in town visiting an old friend.”

Riley wasn't sure why she nodded, knowing he couldn’t have seen, but it was her way of acknowledging his reasoning. From the corner of her eyes she could see him take another long sip from his to—go cup, and so she focused on continuing the process of her paperwork as he sat in place for a few minutes.

It was ten minutes past closing, and despite the near vacancy of her cafe, she could have sworn she felt eyes on her. And she paused as she wrote, taking note of the hair that rose onto the edge of her skin along the back of her neck. “It’s the eighth.” He said suddenly, the ball of her pen hovering over the vacant date she was suppose to fill out. “Coincidently,” he remarked as he left Riley uneasy, “it just so happens to be a full moon.”

Her grip upon her pen felt heavier as he spoke, though he did so without malice. “I’m sure a brilliant young woman like you has heard the legends?” He questioned, though he left no time in between his words for her to reply. Riley could feel her body visibly quake, her hands latching onto the edge of the counter to keep herself steady. “The creatures of the night.” He elaborated suspense-fully. “Legend says that privileged beings walk this Earth, shielded behind the mask of human flesh. That they morph into beasts at the peak of the moon’s fullness. It is said that they loose themselves in the night. That they have no sense of control and will slaughter anything within their path.” The man sipped his tea again, thriving within the tense cloud of terror emanating from Riley. “I hear they kill for pleasure.” He said. “That they enjoy the way the warm blood from a fresh kill settles in their throats.”

Able to feel her skin become numb, the stutter of her own pulse halting the blood in her veins from flowing freely. The man set his empty cup down then, “Have you ever seen anything so vicious before?” He wondered.

Grinding her teeth together, Riley kept her head low, hiding the way her pupils must have doubled in size. How her heart thudded rapidly against her lungs. How she bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her breathing controlled. “They—they’re just legends.” She rationalized bravely, feeling her skin pucker with goosebumps. “You’d have to be crazy to believe any of them.”

The man chuckled then, shaking his head as he dug into his pocket for some cash. He tossed it on the counter, not bothering to ask for change as he began to stand. “I guess I’m a lunatic.” He turned then, cane in hand, as he drummed it against the tile, heading for the door. Riley idled by the counter, too afraid to follow him out. She kept her distance as he turned then, the door propped open against his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Riley.” He disappeared then into the darkness, like a ghost would in a cloud of smoke.

She found her knees buckling beneath her weight as she headed for the door, locking it swiftly as she let out a haggard breath of air.

He’d known her name, yet she hadn’t introduced herself.

*******

*******

Riley sat at the dinner table of the Stilinski’s that next night. With her hands nervously fidgeting within her lap, she watched as John handed out white, seramic plates to both she, Stiles and Scott before he settled into his own seat. Two boxes of pizza sat, piping hot, in the center of the table. It was Stiles who reached for a box first, taking a helping of two slices before Scott leaned in for a serving too.

She felt oddly shy as they ate, grabbing a helping for herself lastly. Her fingertips burned beneath the crust, unable to wait long enough for it to cool before she willingly bit into it. Burning the roof of her mouth was simply just an afterthought. She was too starving to care. She hadn’t eaten that day, still put off by the encounter the night before, and by the nerves she felt while waiting for her job interview just two hours prior.

“How did it go?” Scott asked around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.

Unlike him, Riley waited until she swallowed her food to reply. “I think it went okay.” She assured.

She’d seen the job listing on the community billboard at the cafe. A small hair salon was in search for a receptionist a few nights a week. “But you plan on keeping your job at the cafe, right?” Stiles asked, taking a gulp of his soda as he shot her an interested stare.

With a simple nod, she silently informed them a second job was a necessity. A second must have past, because before Riley knew it, she was already picking up a second slice. “You sure that’s a good idea, kiddo?” John prompted, his brows raised and his expression unsure. She’d never heard him use that nickname, not for her, Stiles or Scott. Not that she minded, John Stilinski was the closest thing she had to a father figure at the moment. “Juggling two jobs is hard enough,” he expressed, “not to mention academics on top of it.”

Taking a moment to chew her food thoroughly, she couldn’t help the way her foot bounced against the rug beneath her seat. How could she simplify her reasonings for them to understand? How could she explain her needs without coming off as pitiful? She toyed with her pizza crust for a second before placing it onto Stiles plate beside her. He always ate them for her when she couldn’t finish.

“I kinda . . .” She trailed off, “need the money.” The three of them fell into a silence as she spoke. “I’m about to renew my lease in another few months.” She added. “And rent’s expensive. And . . .” She found it hard to speak about these problems, knowing just how whiny she must have sounded. “And I figured if I wanted to go to college, I should . . . probably . . . start saving.”

John’s expression fell, pursing his lips as he stared at his plate. He hated to think of seeing a kid struggle to keep a roof over their own head. With the lack of parental guidance, he could see the stress begin to visibly wear her thin. No kid deserved to wonder whether or not the roof above their head would last from month to month. To wonder where their next meal would come from. To wonder what they’d do if they found themselves on the street.

He wanted to speak up, but found that his voice was lost somewhere in the pitiful swell of his throat. “Ya know,” Stiles spoke up, clearing the own lodge from his neck as he thrusted a finger at his father, “my dad and I have been talking.” He said, looking to his friend with glittering whiskey colored eyes. “We—we have a spare bedroom.”

Riley felt the words leave her mouth before she could even process the Stilinski’s offer. “I—uh—“ unable to form a coherent sentence as her eyes became tinged with heat. “I don’t—“

“You don’t have to answer right now.” John assured. “Just something for you to think about.”

 

*******

*******

 

Riley was perched on the edge of her seat as she leaned forward, craning her neck in order to hear the voices of her two friends as they sat upon the driver and passenger seats. It was the last night of summer break for them, which meant they were willing to spend it in each others company. And though Stiles drove in a specific direction, they hadn’t quite told Riley where it was that they were headed.

Perhaps she didn’t care, finding herself enjoying the small wheeze of their breathless laughs as they made joke after joke the whole ride. Riley remained quiet for most of the time as they spoke, still feeling the weight of John and Stiles offer as it hung heavily in the back of her mind. Hating the idea of imposing, she couldn’t help but think of how the pressure of keeping a roof over her head would be mostly absolved.

It was an offer she should have jumped at anxiously, but found that it was undeniably hard to accept.

It was not John’s responsibility to help her get by. She was not his child, so why did he feel it was necessary to shoulder the burden of housing another teenager? She figured it must have been the Sheriff in him, not wanting to see a child slip through the cracks no matter how hard they worked. Riley knew this decision was going to be a hard one to accept, still calculating the pro’s and con’s as Stiles finally parked his Jeep within the lot of a small shopping mall.

It was fairly empty given the time, looking to clock upon the dash as it rounded to nearly nine that night. “You sure you still wanna do this?” Stiles asked, looking to Scott with questionable eyes.

The palms of Scott’s hand felt dewy, running them along the denim of his thighs before he gulped once and nodded.

Riley glanced out the windshield then, her eyes finding the neon signs adorning the store front windows with curiosity. The tattoo shop was wedged between the diner Riley and Derek had visited, and a small second—hand store. And by the way Scott fumbled out of the passenger side door timidly, she could easily guess which building they were here for.

Following after them as they idled on the side walk by the front door, Riley’s voice seemed to rise an octave higher in confusion. “How the hell do you expect to get a tat—“ He cut her off then, reaching into his pockets before showing her the fake I.D. he’d had for quite some time now. She narrowed her eyes at the wide grin he wore in his picture, shaking her head in disbelief when she read just how old he’d falsely claimed himself to be. “You don’t even look twenty—three.” She argued.

Scott adjusted his jacket, puffing out his chest as a way of seeming older than he looked. The fresh—faced, seventeen year old turned then, heading towards the front door to the shop with broadened shoulders. “Trust me,” Stiles nudged her as they followed after him, “I tried talking him out of it too.” He rolled his whiskey colored eyes as he held the door open for her. “He’s the second most stubborn werewolf I know.” He confessed.

It was Riley’s turn to shake her head, knowing damn well which werewolf resided at the top of his list.

The inside of the tattoo shop was warm, though the air felt stagnant the further inside they walked. The strongest scent of tobacco wafted in from the back of the building, along with an aftertaste of smoke that hadn’t quite been legalized in their state. Riley wrapped her arms around her chest, shuffling nervously as Scott approached the burly man situated behind the counter.

He cleared his throat, deepening his voice as he nodded his head. _“Good evening.”_ He expelled confidently, though it caused both Riley and Stiles to shake their heads in second—hand embarrassment. “I’d like to get a tattoo.”

Though his voice was filled with confidence, trying to earn the reputation of being older than he looked, the man behind the counter simply rose a brow, but kept his eyes transfixed on the magazine within his hands. By the scantily clad women showcased on it’s cover, Riley could only assume he wasn’t into it for just the articles.

“I.D.” The man responded, still keeping his eyes focused on the pages in his hand as Scott fished for the fake one he’d  had made.

She stood behind him as he slid it across the counter, trailing her own eyes over the wide curve of the mans exposed arms, and how his dull tattoo’s had wrapped all the way from the tops of his shoulders to the knuckles on his hands.

It was then that the man set down his Playboy and eyed the thin piece of glossy plastic. His eyes narrowed at it questionably before he must have decided he didn’t quite care about it’s authenticity. He reached below the counter then for a clipboard, shuffling it towards Scott with a slight grunt before he stood up to finally acknowledge their presence.

Riley’s eyes shot down to her feet, ignoring his stare as he lingered on her for a moment longer before glancing back at Scott. Her werewolf best friend filled out the required paperwork with nervous hands, though she could visibly see the dimple in his cheek from his excitement.

“Melissa’s going to be pissed, isn’t she?” Riley whispered to Stiles as Scott handed the clipboard back to the artist.

His freckled—face pursed as he nodded. _“Undoubtedly.”_

The man waived them back then, beginning to set up his station as Scott took a seat upon the propped, leather chair. In the meantime, he’d slipped the artist a piece of paper with the design he’d wanted tattooed. “It’s a good thing you drew me a picture.” The artist said sarcastically, his humor dry as he set it down on the counter of his station and headed towards the back to make a stencil.

Riley craned her head over Stiles shoulder, eyeing the paper with a curious glance before looking back to her friend. “What the hell is that?” She wondered, unsure of what to make of the two, straight lines adorning the paper. They were filled in hastily with a black sharpie, a design Scott had drawn on a whim.

“You sure you don’t want something like this?” Stiles prompted, waiving his hand toward the framed drawing hanging over the artists work station. It was of a scaled lizard, a suggestion that earned a narrowed glare from Scott himself. “Too soon?” Stiles questioned, finding humor in the Kanima’s past antics now that he’d had months to wipe the slate clean.

Scott McCall looked back to Riley assuringly. “I just like it.” He promised with a small grin. And once he could see the questioning stare remain in the hazel orbs of Riley’s eyes, he added, “and getting a tattoo itself has meaning.”

“He’s right.” The artist acknowledged as he rounded the corner back to his station, the stencil of Scott’s design clenched within his hands. “Tattooing goes back thousands of years.” He began to lazily prep his station as he spoke. “The Tahitian word, _tatua_ , means to leave a mark. Sort of like a right of passage.”

Scott’s grin grew wider, “See?” He exclaimed. “He get’s it!”

“He’s covered in tattoo’s.” Stiles reminded. _“Literally.”_

The sound of the black, rubber gloves snapping into place upon the wrist of the artist drew their attention back, watching as he splayed out the stencil of Scott’s drawing around the top of his bicep. It curved along his muscle, wrapping around his skin like a band.

Stiles and Riley stood near the edge of Scott’s chair, their curious eyes remained unsure as the artist gathered the pen to his machine between his fingers. Scott took in a lungful of air, easing the tension within his body as he slowly found himself slipping into a relaxed state of mind. And the buzzing sound came soon after, hearing the rampant hum of the machine echo off the walls of the small shop.

And then he pressed the needle firmly against the smooth skin of Scott’s arm. The werewolf did not flinch, nor did he show any signs of pain as the artist traced out the thin lines of the two bands that curved all the way around the top of his arm.

That grin Riley had come to love did not drop from Scott’s face, only broadening as time continued.

The sound, though loud and unnerving, seemed to grow on her too. Finding comfort in it’s high—pitched buzz as she watched the artist begin to shade in his work. Riley had always liked tattoo’s, and more specifically, the stories that were carried within the detailed lines of the work displayed upon other peoples bodies. She wondered briefly, what kind of story her own tattoo would tell.

She’d always liked the idea of having one, thinking as if the permanent residency upon her skin would somehow bind her together. Things for her, in the span of a year, had changed in ways most people couldn’t quite fathom. From having everything she needed, to fending for herself, she felt as if their wasn’t one, constant thing keeping her head above water.

Maybe after all she’d endured, something constant felt like a welcoming addition.

“It doesn’t hurt?” She questioned as the artist finished up with the last few details of Scott’s ink.

Her friend shook his head. “Not bad at all.” He promised. “It’s like . . .” his voice tapered off, trying to describe the right way it felt, “It’s like a cat scratch.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Stiles huffed sarcastically, “like hundreds of cats just clawing into your skin at once!”

Scott rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Riley as if to shrug off Stiles’ obscene description.

She’d never given much thought as to what she’d ever get tattooed on herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized nothing could quite symbolize this part of her life. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely true, because just before Scott could stand up from the chair he’d been planted in for nearly an hour, she found the question slipping from between her lips.

“Do you have time for one more?” She asked, her question directed towards the artist.

From her peripheral, she could see both Scott and Stiles raise a brow in surprise. They hadn’t expected her to decide on a whim, but a whim was how her actions worked these days. Nothing was ever planned out accordingly, and maybe that was the true symbolism behind her idea to get a tattoo.

The artist waived her back towards the counter, checking her credentials before handing her another waiver to fill out. She found her teeth could not unclench, feeling an uproar of excitement begin to fester within the pit of her stomach. That explained Scott’s earlier giddiness, finding it almost unbearable to simmer down the coil of nerves pulsing just beneath her skin.

“What were you looking to get done?” The artist asked.

Instead of replying, Riley simply tore off the corner of her waiver before doodling a simple drawing onto its stark white page. It’s something she found herself doodling a lot of during her school lectures. A repeated pattern that always flowed from the ball—point pen she should have used to jot down notes.

It was a simple doodle, one that seemed to have stuck with her for quite some time. “It’s a waning moon.” She described as the artist took note of the curved half of the drawing.

The spontaneity within the moment seemed to prove that she hadn’t taken risks in quite some time. But she gulped down the lodge within her throat, terrified, yet enthralled by the idea of having a permanent reminder of a chapter in her life that she’d finally begun to close the door to. He waived her back toward the station as he disappeared again, creating another stencil at her request.

Riley couldn’t deny the quiver of her hands as she took a seat upon the tattooing chair, looking up at both Scott and Stiles with beaming eyes. “Weren’t you trying to talk me out of mine an hour ago?” Scott murmured with a furrowed brow.

“I’m not underage.” Riley bartered with a small grin, feeling the nerves begin to rattle down her spine as her foot bounced against the tile anxiously. “Besides”, she added gleefully, “you two always tell me to loosen up.”

Stiles pursed his lip, scratching the spot behind his ear with slight guilt. He had mentioned that a few times before, having always noticed just how uneasy she’d become recently. The artist returned then, sanitizing his station once more as Riley splayed back upon the chair. It reclined now, turning slightly onto her right side as she began to lift the hem of her shirt just below the underwired cup of her bra.

And from there, it felt like time ceased to exist. Focusing on nothing but the shrill sound of the motor ricocheting from the tattoo machine. The needle embedded into the soft flesh of her ribs, feeling the slightest pain stretch across the plane of her chest. Scott was right, the pain wasn’t as unbearable as she’d made it out to be.

She could feel the artist precisely outline the curve of the moon, her teeth clenching together each time the needle pressed against the bone of her ribs just beneath her skin.

Both Scott and Stiles hovered close by, admiring the detail put forth by the artists before finally speaking up. “What’s it mean to you?” Scott pondered, unsure of what significance the lunar phase held for her.

“A waning moon,” she noted carefully, “is the last phase just before the lunar’s complete cycle.” She clarified. “It’s signify’s the end of something, be it good or bad.”

For Riley, it signified the chapter in her life that she’d slowly begun to move on from. It had been nine months since her mothers passing, and though she felt compelled to never forget, she’d slowly begun to feel the side effects of what moving on entailed.

The artist paused, dipping the tip of his needle back into the black ink. “It’s also a time of reflection.” He added, full of wisdom that any of the three of them couldn't suspect. “Psychic's use this period of time to enhance their intuition. It strengthens the bond between mind and body.” Stiles seemed to widen his stare, his freckled—face curious and accepting. The artist could feel their eyes on him, explaining further, “I wrote a paper on it in college.” He clarified, though he’d never admit he’d dropped out after a year into his bachelor’s degree.

Scott and Stiles seemed to share a knowing look with one another before glancing back to Riley. Perhaps the meaning behind her tattoo had more significance than either of them thought. The underlining notion of truth filled the room with it’s tension, feeling it begin to slide down her throat as if to suffocate her. Deaton had told her once, that her intuition was magnified far beyond the scope of normality.

Perhaps, subconsciously, her mind had always kept her on the right path.

 

*******

*******

 

The first day of Riley’s senior year felt off as she brushed past the incoming freshman and made her way towards her locker. She was left rushing as she hurriedly placed her textbooks away before heading towards her fourth hour class. It wasn’t necessarily a class, but more of an opportunity to earn another credit towards her graduation. After Riley had heard about the new English teacher beginning this year, she’d taken the opportunity to be their student aide. Anything she could do in order to keep herself from having a free period.

A free period meant more time to think. And more time to think meant more time to over analyze. And over analyzing things often times sent her into a panicked state of mind.

Sure, these past three months had been nothing but mostly smooth sailing, she didn’t want to take her chances and end up falling into the pit of depression she’d recently just dug herself out of. Perhaps she owed that to her friends, helping her keep busy enough so that her mind could not find the right time to sink into the depths of her own uncertainty.

And as Riley began to ascend the stairs to the second floor of the building, she found both Scott and Stiles waiting at the top, as if they’d been anticipating her. She hadn’t gotten a chance to see them today, not since they’d left the tattoo parlor just the night before. And by the grim expression on Scott McCall’s face, she could tell that something was up. He rose the sleeve of his t—shirt up, exposing the smooth skin of his left arm.

His tattoo was gone. “It healed before I woke up.” He insisted, his voice low and crazed.

Riley inspected the deep tan of Scott’s skin, allowing the pads of her fingers to graze over it swiftly. Her brow knit in confusion, looking to him with questionable eyes. “How is that possible?” She wondered idly.

“I mean,” Stiles shrugged with pursed lips, “it sorta makes sense, doesn’t it? A tattoo is essentially just an one big open wound anyway.”

“Then how does Derek have one?” Riley questioned, frowning once Scott rolled the sleeve of his shirt back down to his elbow.

They began heading down the hallway then toward the fourth hour, knowing the bell was bound to ring at any moment. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” Scott ensured, looking to both of his friends knowingly as they entered the classroom together. “I’m gonna meet him after school.” He proposed. “You two in?”

Riley nodded, knowing she was most likely going to see him regardless, figuring she could catch a ride while she was at it. Scott and Stiles broke away from her then, taking their seats toward the back of the class as Riley headed towards the teacher scrawling across the black board. Her back was turned toward her class, writing out a quote that Riley couldn’t quite make out.

 _“Ms. Blake?”_ She cleared her throat, gaining the teachers attention. She was a beautiful woman from what Riley could see, deciding she must have been in her late twenties as she offered the palm of her hand for the teacher to shake. Her chestnut brow hair was curled, pulled back into a clip as her striking, blue eyes caught hers. “I’m Riley.” She introduced herself. “I’m your aide this semester.”

Jennifer Blake seemed bothered, perhaps the first day of her new job made her unsettled as her oceanic eyes widened a bit, before she found the nerve to relax her tensed frame. Placing her palm in Riley’s and swallowing the anxious lump within her throat, Jennifer smiled briefly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Her hand felt noticeably cold within Riley’s, finding the small curve of Blake’s lips more forced than necessary. Ms. Blake pulled her hand away then, waiving her towards the teachers desk isolated within the corner, offering it up for Riley to take a seat. Riley found the exchange quite odd, but assumed it was the teachers first day jitters. She’d be terrified too if she had to present herself to a whole new school in just a matter of hours. First impressions were everything.

The shrill sound of the bell echoed throughout the classroom then as the students began to settle. And as Riley took a seat upon the swiveled chair at Ms. Blake’s desk, she met eyes with two girls who hurriedly shuffled in through the door last minute. The flash of red hair caught her attention, meeting the green orbs of Lydia’s stare as she waived her manicured fingers in Riley’s direction.

And the girl who followed after seemed unnaturally timid, keeping her head down despite briefly meeting Riley’s gaze and offering her a shy smile. If it hadn’t been for the familiar curve of Allison Argent’s jaw, Riley wouldn’t have recognized her. She hadn’t seen her friend in three months, barely having even spoken to her as she’d spent her summer vacation in France with her extended family.

Her hair was shorter, curling just above the dip of her collarbones. It was lighter than Riley remembered it, a softer brown with caramel highlights weaved within. The brightness softened Allison’s hard features, unlike the dark chocolate color Riley had last seen her in. She hoped, that for Allison’s sake, the three months away had helped her grasp onto a world where her mother did not exist.

She knew from experience how hard it must have been for her, having sent her a text in early June, explaining she was there if Allison ever needed to talk. _Allison never replied_.

“The offing was barred by a black blank of clouds,” Ms. Blake murmured as the class settled into silence, “and the tranquil waterway, leading to the uttermost ends of the Earth flowed somber under an overcast sky,” the teacher recited the quote she’d been writing upon the blackboard earlier, “seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.” Her voice was high, smooth and controlled. Almost polished as if she’d been practicing it for a while.

The click of Jennifer Blake’s heels agains the tiled floors echoed as she strolled down the first row of students, and back up to the front of the class from the other side. “This is the last line to the first book you will all be reading.” She mentioned, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces of her students.

Riley watched on from the front of the class, feeling her phone buzz against her thigh as she snuck a peak at it swiftly. Jennifer’s voice trailed out as Riley focused on the name sprawled across her screen, it was from Derek. **_‘We have a slight problem’,_** it read, causing Riley to incline her head in worry as she began to text him back.

 _ **‘What happened?’**_ , she asked, feeling the nervous coil in her stomach begin to pulsate.

She hadn’t seen Derek since that Friday before, knowing both he and Isaac were heading out of town again in search of Boyd and Erica. They were suppose to have headed home last night, but the concern laced within Derek’s words made her unsure of it that had been entirely true or not.

Her foot bounced against the tile beneath her boots, anxious and unsure as she awaited Derek’s reply. _**‘It’s a long story,’**_ he replied cryptically, _**‘Can you meet me at the Hale house later?’**_

Before Riley could reply, a loud _thud_ sounded in her ears. It startled her, having been so focused in on Derek’s response, that she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. And as she looked up quickly in a panic, she found that she was not the only one alarmed. The students, idling in their seats, stared in shock at the glass window stretched along the right—hand wall.

Ms. Blake had stopped talking, her voice caught in her throat at the sight of a mangled bird situated on the windowsill. It had flown into the crystal clear glass, causing a disturbed silence as it’s blood smeared along the lower corner of where it had hit. The gruesome coil in Riley’s stomach seemed to rise into her chest at the sight, feeling it tug endlessly at her lungs, stunting her breaths as the classroom fell into an eerie silence.

It took a moment for Riley to catch her breath, looking towards the rattled expression adorning Allison’s face as both she and Lydia shared a nervous glance. “As I was saying,” Jennifer Blake swallowed the dry lump that formed in the back of her throat, continuing on with her lecture, “If you turn your syllabus to page—“ _Thud._ The sound happened once more.

Riley strained her eyes from the phone within her hands and back at the glass window.

A second bird had dive bombed into the glass, and now lay lifelessly upon the windowsill.

The classroom fell into another eerie silence, but this time, as Riley strained her ears, she could hear the distant cawing of birds in the distance. If she could hear it, she knew Scott could effortlessly, looking to him with a raised brow and questioning pair of eyes as he shifted his gaze back toward the window. His expression seemed uncomfortable, straining her head just enough to see whatever it was the caused the beta so much uncertainty.

Flapping their wings in unison, Riley was able to make out the black silhouettes of a flock of crows as they soared closer with each second that seemed to pass. Riley was prepared this time as a third crow hit the window. Flinching at the sound as a fourth one echoed. Then a fifth. Then a sixth.

As if diving into the glass were their last dying wish, the echo of their bodies crunching against the window left a pucker of goosebumps to swell over Riley’s skin. It was then that she heard it, the shattering of glass and the shrill echo of caw’s. But nothing could quite drown out the screams of the students as more and more birds plummeted into the class room. “Get down!” Ms. Blake yelled as crows began to plummet through the glass and flock inside of the classroom.

Riley’s heart pulsated heavily within her chest, her teeth gnashing together to keep her own shocked yelp from escaping her lungs. Diving beneath the teachers desk, Riley cradled her head between her knees before overlapping her arms over the back of her neck.

The sounds ricocheted off of the four walls, the heavy caws from the crows, mingled in with the sheer terror emanating from the mouths of the petrified students. She was shielded from it’s chaos, but couldn’t help herself as she squeezed her eyes shut with undeniable force.

It must have lasted only a few moments, because the sudden silence of the room settling seemed to burn itself into her memory. The cawing had stopped, the sounds of glass breaking died down, and the constant and vigorous flapping of wings had finally ceased. All that seemed to remain was the haggard breaths of air puffing from the lips of the exasperated kids.

Riley unraveled her limbs from over her head, feeling her hands quiver as she snaked her finger through her hair. With slow and deliberate movements, Riley cautiously emerged from beneath the mahogany desk she’d taken shelter under. The first thing she saw was the chaos left behind, feeling her legs buckle with disbelief as the carcasses of the crows settled upon the tiled floor at the students feet.

The others had begun to rise in turn, watching as Scott McCall unraveled his arms from around Allison’s head. His first thought was to protect her, despite how she sat just a mere row away from him. And Stiles, who reluctantly plucked the fresh and stunned carcass of a dead bird from off the top of his desk, as Lydia, who stood beside him, smoothed out the wrinkled curve of her dress.

And no one seemed to speak, standing in the carnage of their very own classroom.

*******

*******

Scott McCall flipped the passenger side seat forward, his lips creasing at the corners as he thought carefully before he spoke. As he pondered, Riley climbed out from the back seat, stretching her legs against the debris along the front yard of the old, burned down Hale home. She was surprised that it’s structure still stood, having spent years withering away, it still towered over like a beacon of devastation.

Meeting them at the hood of the Jeep, Stiles held the same questionable expression as Scott.

They hadn’t spoken much about the incident during fourth hour, finding it increasingly unnerving the more they replayed the chaos in their heads. Nearly a hundred crows had flown through the glass, cawing viciously before they’d settled down and died wherever their faulty wings had dropped them. It felt like no matter how hard Riley shook the image from her mind, she couldn’t shake the fear that clustered just beneath her skin.

Riley was the first to lead them forward then, heading up the worn down path towards the Hale’s front door. She knew Derek was there, eyeing the silver paint upon the new Toyota he’d bought just a month prior.

But as she approached the once brown and chipped door, she noticed the thick coat of fresh, red paint now in it’s place. With a careful hand, she twisted the knob firmly, ensuring to keep the soft flesh of her knuckles from rubbing up against the scarlet paint adorning the front door.

The home was still as desolate as Riley remembered. She hadn’t stepped foot on this property in months, but the cold presence of darkness still clung to it’s walls. “Derek?” Scott called out first, his voice firm and burly as it echoed off the soot stained walls.

“In here.” A solemn voice replied, low and reserved.

Upon the other side of the staircase to the second floor was the living room, the place from which the voice had traveled from. Riley was careful as she stepped forward, keeping a close eye on the floorboards at her feet, ensuring she did not step on any of many rusted, uprooted nails from below.

The inside of the home seemed brighter than usual, as if the sun within the sky beamed in through the shattered windows for once. She could feel both of her friends on her heels as she rounded the corner to the once lively living room, able to identify the frame belonging to Derek without even having to question it. His back was turned to them, his shoulders hunched as he worked over the entryway table along the far wall.

She ventured closer, only to find that what Derek worked on was not just something . . . but someone.

 _“Isaac.”_ The name left Riley’s lips in a huff of disbelief. Her pace quickened, her hands reaching out to clasp the roughened edge of the table as her gaze raked over Isaac’s paled frame. “What the hell happened?” She demanded hastily, finding just how unsettling the pale blue shade upon his shut eyelids made her feel.

But that shouldn’t have been the worst part, seeing the gentle rise and fall of his chest as four gashes raked over the curve of his shoulder and down the length of his ribs. This must have been what Derek had meant when he said he’d needed to talk to her. “Another werewolf.” Derek declared, his nimble hands fumbling with a wet wash cloth as he cleaned up the wounds of an unconscious Isaac.

Last night had been their final attempt at finding Boyd and Erica before the new school year. What had happened within the span of a few hours, that Isaac had returned nearly mangled?

“Is he going to be okay?” Stiles asked, peeking his head over Derek’s shoulder to get a better view.

Despite his hesitancy, Derek nodded in return. “Wounds from an Alpha take longer to heal.”

The weight of his words hung heavily on Scott, who then chose to speak up. “An Alpha?”

Derek dropped the cloth within his hand down onto the table as he turned to face them. “Isaac thought he caught a scent so we split up.” He confessed, shaking his head in slight regret. “Someone found him like this,” he waived to the teenage boy displayed behind him, “I won’t know what happened till he wakes up.”

And by the defeated look upon his face, Riley could tell his was shouldering something much more than just the responsibility of Isaac. He remained quiet about it, finding himself unable to confess to anything more than his inability to protect his own Beta. Instead of owning up to his mistake, he looked to Scott instead, remembering his text early this morning. He could have sworn he could sense Scott’s frustration in the form on his hectic questions, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked to the teenager pointedly.

“Did you still want that tattoo?” He asked, his full brow rising gently.

Scott backtracked, shuffling anxiously for a moment before mentioning, “Are—are you sure nows a good time?” He asked, pointing to the unconscious and wounded boy behind the Alpha.

Derek frowned, but did not speak. Instead, he stepped forward and placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder, guiding him towards the far end of the living room where an old, unstuffed arm chair still resided. He motioned for Scott to take a seat, to which he did, as Derek disappeared down the hall toward the closet for a moment.

Keeping her place beside Isaac, Riley opted for gently cupping his hand between her two palms. His skin was frigid, but at the slight friction of her touch, his eyes flickered beneath his nearly translucent lids. His lips were pale, parting as his teeth barely chattered against each other. She wondered for a moment if he’d remember what happened to him. If he’d remember who’d hurt him. If he’d remember who found him.

She hated seeing her friends like this, feeling powerless to the pain they felt.

Derek returned then with a trunk within his hands. She recognized it’s description, remembering the story he’d told her about his little sister, Cora, and how she’d crafted it for him the Christmas before the fire happened. Riley released Isaac’s hand then, coming to stand at her friends side as Derek fiddle with the contents inside of the trunk for just a moment longer.

Stiles idled behind the chair Scott fidgeted in, his expression nervous as Derek pulled out a small, black box. “What’s that?” Stiles asked curiously.

“A tattoo machine.” Derek implied as he toyed with the pedal and pen.

Stiles pursed his lips, “Why do you have it?”

An exasperated sigh fell from the Alpha’s lips. “It was a gift from my sister, Laura.”

Derek then reached back into the trunk to retrieve a slim, silver cylinder with a metal nozzle. Speaking about his sister still felt foreign to him, talking about her in a past—tense as if the scar of losing her wasn’t still rubbed raw. He swallowed down the reminder of how his sister had used this exact same machine to give him his tattoo just three years prior.

“What’s this?” Stiles asked again, bending down to retrieve the the silver cylinder curiously.

Derek yanked it back from his hands. “A torch.” He hissed. “Don’t touch it.”

Scott gulped at the sight of it, his hands wringing together nervously as Derek shut the lid to his trunk and sat on it across from Scott. “Is—is that the trick you were talking about?” He asked timidly, staring pointedly at the torch at Derek’s feet. “The trick to making the tattoo stay?”

The Alpha nodded simply, continuing to sanitize his equipment as Riley hovered just a mere few feet from behind him. “We heal from burns on the outside,” Derek explained, “but scar tissue still resides in the muscle. It’s the only way the ink will stick.”

Scott contemplated it a moment further as Derek set up his equipment, deciding that the pro’s of his tattoo far outweighed the con’s. He slowly began to roll up the sleeve of his forest green t—shirt, his crooked jaw clenched in preparation. “I don’t know if you can even still see where it was?” He mentioned quietly, twisting his arm back and forth as he inspected the skin of his arm.

Derek looked up then, analyzing the spot just above Scott’s elbow. To the human eye, there was nothing left to prove he’d ever gotten inked in the first place. Blinking slowly, Derek allowed the hue of his eyes to change to a searing red. It enhanced his vision, studying the residual ink for a moment before his eyes shifted back to a cool, blue—green.

“Two bands?” Derek said. To Scott’s surprise, he nodded in return. “What does it mean?”

For a moment, Scott did not answer. His friends had asked him the night before, yet he’d dodged the question. He knew he couldn’t lie to Derek, he could sense it the moment it slipped from between his teeth. “It’s just something I traced with my hands.” He mentioned, allowing his fingers to swirl in a circular motion upon the dust on the arm of the chair he sat in. “Do you know what the word ‘tattoo’ means?” He questioned further.

Derek kept his eyes focused on the tattoo pen in his hand. “To mark something.” He replied.

“That’s in Tahitian.” Scott corrected, adverting his eyes to the bullseye shaped marking he’d traced into the dusty furniture. “In Samoan, it means ‘and open wound’.” His expression seemed sullen as he spoke. “I knew I wanted to get a tattoo when I turned eighteen. I’ve always wanted one, but I decided to get it now as kind of . . .” he trailed off. “Kind of a reward.”

Riley shared an unsure look with Stiles, not having heard Scott explain this part of his decision.

“A reward for what?” Derek probed further.

It wasn’t hard to see the visible roll of Scott’s shoulders, as if confessing this to someone would relieve the pressure of having to carrying it’s weight. “For not texting or calling Allison all summer.” He finally said. “Even when I really wanted to. Even when it was so hard not to sometimes.” He hadn’t told this to anyone, not even Stiles. For three months, Scott had felt confined by his unyielding need to reach out to her. “I wanted to give her the space she needs,” his eyes seemed glassy, though he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep the heat at bay. “And I saw her for the first time in three months today,” his head bowed slightly, “and everything just felt like . . . “ he trailed off, his features scrunched as he motioned lazily to his chest.

“An open wound?” Riley finished for him when she found that Scott could not continue. Her friend inclined his head, his shoulders slumped as if he were ashamed to admit all of that.

And in the back of Derek’s head, all he could do was think about how simple that problem seemed in comparison to his own. How lucky Scott must have been to only be suffering the heartache of first love. He bit his tongue, deciding it wasn’t his place to misconstrue Scott’s issues. Regardless, they seemed a whole hell of a lot easier to manage than his own.

He sighed deeply then, gaining the Beta’s attention as he felt Riley’s presence shift closer to his side. “It’s going to hurt.” He promised without a shred of mercy. He knew preparing Scott for the ache of the burn would be easier said than done. He reached for the blow torch at his feet then, pressing the lever as a stream of hot fire billowed from the nozzle. Rolling his shoulders once more as a lungful of air collected in his lungs, Scott sat a tad bit straighter as he nodded.

“Do it.”

*******

*******

The buzzing sound emanating from the tattoo machine was calming, seated on the singed rug of the living room beside Derek, Riley watched with endearment at the precision he took in detailing Scott’s tattoo. His hand was steady and light as he shaded in the bands wrapping around the top of Scott’s arm. She’d never quite known that this artistic side resided within Derek, but it was refreshing to see it unfold before her very eyes.

Despite the buzz echoing in her ears, she could still hear the shrill sound of Scott’s screams flood her mind again. The faintest smell of charred skin still wafted in the air. She could still see the haze of fire when she closed her eyes. She would never quite understand why Scott subjected himself to that willingly . . . But then again, so had Derek once upon a time.

Scott was slouched within his chair, taking controlled breaths to remind himself that the fire upon his skin would not ignite again. His eyes were closed, focusing on the needle that penetrated his skin as a way to cope with the burns still healing beneath his skin. But even still, if he had to choose, he’d do it all again without a moment of hesitation.

Everything this past year, to him, felt so ephemeral. It was nice to have something constant.

“I bet it hurts more the second time around, huh?” Stiles asked, patting his best friends shoulder. He was the first to break the silence in nearly forty—five minutes. Scott kept his eyes closed, but Riley figured the movement behind his lids signified an eye roll. Stiles turned his attention to her then, “Consider yourself lucky,” he pointed at her knowingly, “that you don’t have super—wolf healing powers, otherwise your tattoo would be gone too.”

Riley glared at him playfully, but noticed the buzzing of the machine halt suddenly. Derek glanced down at her as she sat at his side. She hadn’t told him about her decision the night before. But the innocence in her eyes suggested she was going to, to which his lip curved up slightly. He looked her up and down once, unable to see anything visible to his eyes.

“I’ll see it eventually.” He murmured, his voice slightly heavy.

Riley shook her head, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair as Stiles spoke. “Awe.” He said endearingly before his tone turned sour. “You two make me sick.”

Another twenty minutes seemed to pass by, making small talk as they discussed the incident at school. It was still an unnerving topic to think about, feeling the hairs on her neck stand on the edge of her skin as Scott and Stiles discussed the reasonings behind it. Riley kept her mouth clamped as they theorized, keeping a steady eye on the fine—tipped needle as Derek finished up the last remaining section of Scott’s arm.

“—It’s too early for migration.” Stiles summarized as Riley zoned back in. Stiles squinted his eyes in uncertainty then, “Do crows even migrate?”

Derek looked up at him briefly before glancing back down to the tattoo he worked on. “Not necessarily.” He elaborated. “But animals are unpredictable. Some humanitarians even believe it’s possible that animals have the capability to perform suicide”

“You think they dive bombed through the window on purpose?” Scott asked skeptically.

Derek merely shrugged. “It’s just like how some deer run headlong into windshields.”

The idea of this topic intrigued her, “Rats are known to get tangled in their own tails when their scared.” She added. “Some animals can even sense when an earthquake is about to happen.”

Stiles squared his shoulders, “So the crows dive—bombed into our classroom because . . .?” He trailed off questioningly.

“Could be a multitude of things.” Derek suggested over the ring of the tattoo machine. “But the one occurring factor is usually always fear.”

The buzzing to the tattoo machine stopped again, this time for good as Derek wiped a wet paper towel over the ink, cleaning off any remaining residue. “Then what were they afraid of?” Scott pressed, stretching his back before glancing down to admire Derek’s work. The line work was flawless and straight, the pigment of the ink finally adhering to his skin.

Derek met Scott’s eyes, raising an unsure shoulder. “I wish I knew.”

Breaking down his machine then, Scott rose to his feet, cracking the tension in his back as Riley waited for Derek to pack his things back up into his trunk. She stood then too, glancing towards Isaac who was still fast asleep. “Thank you.” Scott said then, offering Derek a formal show of appreciation. Derek nodded once, patting Scott’s back as a sign of silent reciprocation. They were headed towards the door, but Scott turned back, looking to Derek with interest. “By the way,” he mentioned, “why did you paint the door?”

He could clearly determine the hesitation form within the cluster in Derek’s throat. He did not address his question, but instead said, “Go home, Scott.” Unsatisfied with his answer, Scott analyzed the slight blip of his pulse. He was hiding something. Heading towards the door, Scott opened it just enough to appraise the dry, evenly coated red paint.

Riley stayed at Derek’s side, curious of the answer as well, but unable to feel the same hesitancy that Scott could.

Upon the door, Scott noticed the slightest outline of black peering through from beneath the paint, raking the tips of his nails across the peeling paint at the corner. It peeled effortlessly, curling at the end before he grabbed another corner carelessly. “Scott.” Derek huffed, his tone threatening in the hopes that the Beta would stop prying for answers he wasn’t ready to hear.

Peeling the paint chips back, one after the other, a black symbol slowly revealed itself. From the distance Riley stood, she stepped forward curiously, “What is that?” She pondered, her brows angling in uncertainty.

Stiles stood at Scott’s side, analyzing the spray—painted symbol strewn across the front door of the Hale home. It was three lines spiraled angularly, “It sorta looks like a swastika.” Stiles commented, turning back over his shoulder to look to Derek speculatively.

He huffed once, crossing his arms over his chest. He was hoping to keep this a secret until he’d been able to investigate further. “it’s a rival pack.” He relayed. “They wanted me know they were coming.”

“It’s a threat.” Riley gathered.

Derek did not confirm, but by the look in his eyes, she knew she wasn’t wrong. “And whose ‘they’ exactly?” Stiles interluded. “Another pack?”

“Are they the ones who hurt Isaac?” Scott prompted with concern.

“I don’t know yet.” Derek answered with candor. “But I’m almost certain.” He took two small steps forward as he approached the boys.

Scott frowned, able to identify the small glimmer of fear radiating within his eyes. “If it’s just one pack,” he commented, “then why are you so scared?”

He’d never admit to being terrified, but this pack was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. “Because it’s not just a pack.” Derek clarified. “It’s an entire pack of Alpha’s.”

Absorbing the truth within his words, Stiles scratched the back of his head nervously. “An entire pack?” He repeated, as if he questioned whether or not he’d heard Derek right. “All of them? How does that even work?”

Riley seconded that question, wondering who followed who in a pack lead my different people with different views. “I hear they have some kind of leader.” Derek offered. “His name is Deucalion. I don’t know for sure, but I have a feeling they know where Boyd and Erica are.”

At that information, Riley scoffed, “And you didn’t tell us?”

“I wanted to be sure.” Derek suggested. “When Isaac caught Boyd’s scent, he followed it and it got him hurt. Which tells me someone doesn’t want them to be found.” This was information he’d been hoarding for nearly a month, almost positive that this rival pack had something to do with the disappearance of his Beta’s. “Peter, Isaac and I have been looking for them for months. And last night was the closest I think we ever got.”


	29. Vicious

The air was fairly cool and crisp as Riley traveled down the sidewalk in town. The heels to her boots clacked against the cement, the sun had risen to it’s highest peek. The school day had ended nearly an hour ago, having decided to indulge in the nice weather for a change, Riley had opted for walking to work instead. Though she wasn’t on the schedule to close that night, she needed to pick up her paycheck. It was her final errand before she’d head over to Derek’s. Within the past few day’s, both he and Isaac had moved from the abandoned subway station and into an actual home. She had yet to see this new place, but from hearing Derek talk about it, she knew he seemed enthusiastic about the change, even if he was still unsure about having Isaac live with him still.

Derek felt as if it were his responsibility to look after his Beta, considering the teen was now on his own. Isaac had taken the death of his father all in stride, perhaps it didn’t bother him like it should have, only because he knew the awful things his father had been capable of. Even still, Derek wasn’t sure if taking him in would inevitably hurt him too in the end.

It felt weird for Riley to walk into her place of employment without the intentions of clocking in. It had been her first real day off in a while, shoving the pay stub of her check into her back pocket before ordering an iced coffee to go. She’d never been the kind to drink coffee regularly, but ever since she’d begun picking up the extra shifts, it felt more like a necessity more than anything.

Heading for the glass doors of the exit, Riley was suddenly jostled as a stranger’s shoulder rammed into hers. It was a burly man who had run into her, towering over her by a good foot as the guy eyed her up and down. _“Sorry.”_ He murmured, though his tone suggested anything but an apology. His stare felt thick, lowering her eyes as she took sight of his clenched fists at his sides. He bypassed her then without a second glance, as Riley stared after him for a moment longer.

His head was shaved down nearly to the scalp, his skin tanned unlike any other civilian in Beacon Hills. _He must have been from out of town_ , Riley theorized before shrugging her stiffened shoulder and heading towards the direction of Derek’s new apartment. Riley tried to focus on not taking things so personally, and for the most part it was working. But at some moments she couldn’t help but feel victimized. Just like a few nights prior, how the blind patron had traveled in from out of town, but had known her by name.

Something strange was happening. She could feel it in her bones.

**###**

**###**

From what she knew about the complex Derek had moved in to, he was the only resident. She squinted against the sun as her eyes traveled up the fifteen story building, resting her gaze at the top, where she knew Derek’s loft resided. As odd as it seemed, it was nice to see him settle into a place that offered stability. It wasn’t abandoned and from what she could see, it was maintained properly enough to seem normal. Things hadn’t been normal in a while, but this felt like a good place to start.

Traveling up the fifteen flights of stairs, Riley found herself winded by the ninth floor. But it was the excitement of seeing what the inside of his loft looked like that pushed her forward. She was undeniably proud of Derek for stepping up and taking in Isaac. She’d always seen their relationship as something more than Alpha and Beta. It was more like brothers. The closer she got to the fifteenth floor, the tighter the muscles in her thighs began to strain. She knew with time she’d grow use to the hike, but it seemed exhausting as she rounded past the last step before catching her breath. The only door upon the fifteenth floor idled before her. A steel gray slab tethered to the cement wall with enforced hinges. It did not open like a normal door, but rather slid to the left as it revealed the open floor plan of the loft.

It was scantily decorated, to which she figured as she slowly paved down the cement steps and inside. The back wall of the loft was adorned with floor to ceiling windows, streaming in the beaming sun as it illuminated the room in a soft glow. A blue, suede couch was pushed against the nook of the left side of the room, accompanied by a rather expensive coffee table. No television was in sight, which she didn’t think twice about. Derek didn’t seem like the kind to kick back and watch it anyway.

And as her eyes shifted to the right side, she could see the plump cushioning of a forest green duvet as it lay atop a king sized bed. “It still needs some TLC.” Derek murmured, his voice trailing down the spiral staircase in the corner before his frame followed soon after. He’d come from the kitchen upstairs, where both he and Isaac had been working on repairs. But he could see it in the glittering of her eyes, that this loft held more potential than any place else.

Riley liked the idea that this place was still a work in progress. It meant it would keep Derek busy enough that perhaps his restless mind wouldn’t have time to over think like it usually did. “As long as there’s a functioning bathroom,” Riley provoked him jokingly, “you’ll be fine.” Because regardless, this place still seemed like a luxury compared to the places Derek had been staying before. From the burned down remains of his childhood home; to the abandoned subway station . . . At least now he had an actual bed.

Derek rolled his eyes, his teeth showing just enough between the crack of his lips to signify his own humility. His arm wrapped around her waist, inclining his head as if to kiss her as his nostrils flared suddenly. A familiar scent clung to her frame, one that jolted hot acid up his throat before swallowing it back down again. He looked to her with confusion. “Where were you?” He asked suddenly, his hand overlapping the top of her arm securely.

Narrowing her eyes with uncertainty, she raised her half drunken coffee for him to see. “I stopped by my work to pick up my check. Why?” She rose a brow with curiosity.

Taking an unexplained step back, Derek analyzed her carefully. “Did you stop to talk to anyone?”

“Just my boss?” She questioned nervously. “What’s wrong?”

Flaring his nostrils again, the pungent scent of cedar wood and sea salt wafted into his lungs. It was the kind of scent that revolted him. That made bile rise into his throat, choking him just long enough to remember why that scent felt so familiar. His grip on her loosened, but his full brows furrowed in concentration as he breathed in the scent once more. He had to be certain. He had to know for a fact who it belonged to. “You smell like him.” He huffed angrily, his lip quivering slightly. “Like one of the Alpha’s.”

That word alone caused Riley to stiffen. The talk of Alpha’s over the past month had caused an unnerving amount of tension. A pack of them, to which Derek had said, had been the cause of Isaac’s recent injuries and the disappearance of Boyd and Erica. Derek hadn’t seen this particular Alpha in years, not since he’d been fifteen and mislead by the hostility they had to offer. His name was Ennis. A ruthless werewolf that even Talia, his own mother, had steered clear of.

Her brow furrowed, her eyes pleading for some sort of clarity as Derek became more and more unhinged as the seconds passed. He’d remembered Ennis from his teenage years. He’d never forget the features of the werewolf. He’d been alone back then, still shouldering the weight of being a freshly turned Alpha without a pack to lead. But here he was, finding his niche among five others. Trying to remember the face of the man she’d seen, Riley could only really envision his stature. How his burly frame was thick with muscle and how his dark eyes had been cold. Derek seemed frustrated as he began to pace, shaking his head as he spoke to himself in a small voice. “It’s not a coincidence.” He hummed almost manically. “He had to of followed you.” He suggested. “He knows where you work. He probably already knows where you live.” He added, his gray—green eyes wild and insecure.

“You think they’re following me?” She asked abruptly. “Why?”

Pausing his haste—filled pace along the cement floors of his loft, Derek looked to her intensely. But it was not him who answered, hearing the echo of a voice as it traveled from the front door of the room. “I’d assume they’re scoping you out.” It said, turning over her shoulder as she watched Peter Hale slowly ghost down the small decline of cement steps as he approached them. “See what kind of leverage they can hold over my dear nephew’s head.”

Riley felt herself instinctively backtrack as she fell in line beside Derek, feeling more comfortable broadening the distance between both she and Peter. It had been nearly eight months since she had last seen him, having sworn his oceanic blue eyes had seemed much more void back then. Peter Hale laced his sunglasses through the v—neck of his white shirt, pursing his lips as if his theory was so much more obvious than they’d realized. “Certainly they’re not vying for your company because of your charm.” He then added, insulting the manor of her character with a sarcastic jab.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek asked, his arms crossing defensively over his chest as he glared at his uncle before him.

Bypassing them entirely, making himself at home as he took a seat at the table propped within the center of the loft. His expression was indifferent as a deep sigh raked through his slim nostrils. “There is a pack of rouge Alpha’s that have a personal vendetta against my only living relative.” He proposed vindictively. “I figured I’d lend a hand.” He shrugged assuringly.

Riley frowned, her eyes narrowing into slits in Peter’s direction. “How kind of you.” She mentioned thickly, her tone accusatory.

It seemed relatively uncharacteristic of Peter to offer help, taking a moment to study his expression further, hoping she could pinpoint his motive. People like him did not offer help out of the goodness of their heart. Usually, in her experience, it was because the wanted something in return. And though Peter did not outright mention his intentions, it was easy for both she and Derek to see right through him.

“So,” Peter clapped his hands together, drawing their attention before he spoke, “before the Alpha’s back you into a corner, Derek, what’s your first move?” Standing beside him, Riley could feel the anxious energy emirate from him in waves. As if the presence of his uncle only added to his growing stress. But to be honest, Derek hadn’t quite figured out a plan of action yet. Still unsure about what it was the Alpha’s sought from him, he took his time in managing his actions, wanting to be thorough in the process of defeat.

It wasn’t hard for Peter to pick up on Derek’s hesitancy. His head cocked suddenly, his eyes widening as his handsome face contorted into displeasure. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a plan yet?” He demanded, suddenly standing from his seat as he took two long strides forward. “They’re are five werwolves stalking your every move and you don’t have a plan yet?”

Identifying the clear mockery in his uncle’s tone, Derek gritted his teeth. “It’s not that simple.”

“And it’s not that complicated either.” He concluded. “What about your Beta?” He huffed eagerly, trying his best to offer some cryptic insight. “Isaac? Have you questioned him about what the Alpha’s want? If they said anything to him before they proceeded to ambush him?”

Beside her, Riley could see Derek’s hands ball into fists at his sides. His knuckles quivering, feeling the slightest hint of panic conform to his frame as his uncle hounded him. She could see the anger start to boil behind his eyes, squaring her jaw before she spoke up for him quickly. “We already tried.” Riley suggested firmly. “Isaac can’t remember anything about that night.”

That part was certain, knowing for a fact that any information Isaac could have given them had seemingly been wiped clean from his brain. His memory held no inclination of what he’d seen. But at Riley’s words, Peter’s annoyed posture seemed to straighten. His pursed lips suddenly curled back over his whitened teeth, his blue eyes beginning to glimmer with purpose. “Let me meet him.” He prompted. _“I’ll get it out of him.”_

  
**###**

**###**

  
Isaac seemed reluctant as he sat upon the dining room chair, facing both Riley and Derek with unsure eyes. His blonde hair curled over his forehead, his foot bouncing maniacally against the cement as a nervous energy coursed through him. Peter circled him curiously, gauging the teenagers reaction before he began to speak. “Relax.” He hinted deeply, allowing his nails to elongate into claws before retracting them again. “I’ll get more out of you if you’re calm.”

But Peter’s suggestion seemed more like a threat as Isaac gulped thickly, feeling his cold hands wring against one another with debate. “Where—where did you learn this again?” He asked around a prominent stutter.

Peter circled around the teen once more, evading Riley and Derek’s narrowed eyes before he came to a standstill behind the seated teen. “It’s an ancient ritual used mostly by Alpha’s.” He assured. “It’s a skill that requires a lot of practice.” He insinuated firmly, allowing his claws to slip from his nail beds once more. “One wrong move,” he added, “and you could paralyze someone.” Cocking his head in disregard, he merely shrugged as he spoke. “Or kill them.”

Derek seemed hesitant too, unable to trust his uncle's certainty without inquiring about the side effects. But regardless, he did not speak up on behalf of his Beta. “You’ve had a lot of practice then, right?” Riley demanded heavily, feeling an unbearable need to protect Isaac from peter at any cost.

“I’ve never paralyzed anyone.” The werewolf assured, allowing his tone to insinuate something worse.

It wasn’t hard for Isaac to catch on, stiffening his frame as his bright blue eyes widened with worry. “Does that mean that you’ve killed—“ his question was suddenly cut off, a strangled huff of air escaping his lips as Peter thrusted the sharpened ends of his claws into the back of Isaac’s neck.

At the motion, not having expected it, Riley took a step forward hastily. Derek caught her wrist, stopping her advancement as he watched with fearful eyes. _“Don’t.”_ He said curtly. “Disrupting their connection could kill them both.” He’d only ever seen this once before, when it had been himself in Isaac’s shoes once upon a time. The skill was a practice of tradition, one that his mother, Talia, had taken very seriously. Wether the Alpha performing the ritual was stealing the memories or replenishing them, the tactics used were the exact same.

Riley watched as Isaac silently strained against Peter, his eyes shifting a frigid shade of yellow as Peter’s rolled into the back of his own head. His claws were pierced through the back of Isaac’s neck, keeping his hand steady as their connection to one another was heightened. From here, it was like being inside the Beta’s mind. He could see every memory. Feel every emotion.

It was far more violating than he’d made it seem.

What felt like minutes had only seemed to be a few moments of violent silence before Peter retracted his hand. A gasp flooded from his clenched teeth, stumbling back from the vision he’d seen as Isaac doubled over in his chair. His hand was shaky as he reached back to rub at the wound Peter had given him, feeling tears prick at his eyes as Derek analyzed the situation. He could see, just from Peter’s frantic reaction, that he knew something. “What did you see?” Derek demanded sternly.

“It was so confusing.” Peter reiterated. “Images— _vague shapes._ ”

Riley felt her knees buckle, lacing a comforting hand around Isaac’s shoulder. “But you did see something, right?” She huffed impatiently, feeling her own heart pulse rapidly with unease.

Peter nodded once, rubbing at his temples before he clenched his jaw. “Isaac found them.” He mentioned in a deep tone. “Erica and Boyd.”

“You saw them?” Derek huffed, his gray eyes eagerly yearning for more information.

_“Worse.”_ Peter summarized stiffly, looking to his nephew with caution. “I saw Deucalion.” His head shook as both the werewolves became tense. That name alone instilled an unreal sense of fear between the two of them. One Riley hadn’t quite witnessed before. “He was talking to them.” He rambled. “He said something about time running out.”

“He going to kill them?” Riley demanded harshly, her voice heightened in worry. She hadn’t seen the Beta’s in months, and she didn’t know what was worse. Knowing that they’d been taken by a pack of Alpha’s, or not knowing what had happened to them at all.

Peter shook his head. “He didn’t outright say that.” He argued. “But he did promise them both that they’d be dead by the next full moon.”

A tension hung between the four of them, feeling rattled by the information as Isaac finally gathered his own the thoughts. “The next full moon?”

Derek’s hands were fisted at his sides, _“Tomorrow night.”_ He seethed.

**###**

**###**

  
Riley was balanced atop of an empty desk, her legs criss—crossed as she fiddled with the pearl ring around her index finger. They’d called a pack meeting, but to her surprise, it hadn’t been Derek or Scott’s idea . . . But Allison’s. It was a half hour before first period was due to start, hearing the chatter of students as they began to fill the halls of the high school. They were waiting on a few more people before they’d begin, but it left her curious as to what Allison could want. She hadn’t quite spoken with the hunter since the new school year had started, but perhaps that had more to do with timing than it did their friendship. Beside her, Riley could hear Stiles as he drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk, his freckled face void of any expression. But she could tell by the deep shadows beneath his eyes, that he was tired. He wasn’t the only one.

The influx of information had left Riley rattled, not having slept the night before in fear that she’d miss some sort of vital information. They’d grilled Isaac for hours after Peter had left, trying desperately to find the place in which he’d supposedly found Boyd and Erica. “Have you thought about it?” Stiles’ voice suddenly broke through as she came to from her deep thoughts. Was he referring to the missing Beta’s? Of course she’d thought about it. She hadn’t stopped. Looking up at him she could tell that wasn’t what he meant. Her brow rose inquisitively. “The offer my dad made?” He mentioned with his lips pressed into a thin line. _“Have you thought about it?”_

She remembered then, just a few nights prior how both he and John had offered her their spare guest room until her senior year was over. How noble it was of the Sheriff to take in a child that did not belong to him. He’d hated seeing her suffer the last few months, bending over backers to make ends meet. She was only a child. To John, she seemed much too young to be burdened by the hardships of adulthood. He figured those years could wait a little while longer

Nervously cracking her knuckles, she simply shook her head. No. She hadn’t thought about it.

Not yet at least.

The idea of imposing on the Stilinski family left a bitter taste in her mouth. She’d been so admirably independent for what felt like forever, that she wasn’t sure she could grow accustomed to stepping down from her own high horse long enough to accept the help from someone else. But she knew that Johns offering did not stem from pity. It stemmed from a father figure wanting nothing but the best for his son’s best friend.

She needed more time to weigh her options, providing Stiles with a small, closed—mouth smile, that she would think about it soon.

The door to the classroom opened then as Scott strode through first, followed by Allison, Isaac and Lydia, and finally Derek. “This better be worth my time.” The Alpha murmured as he shut the classroom door behind himself, allowing the pack to speak in private.

Riley sat up straighter, finding it unusual for Lydia Martin to place herself in the center of a pack meeting. She was fairly new to the supernatural world, having only truly begun to dive into the truth over the summer break. “It’s worth something.” Allison assured bravely, standing in toe beside the red—head as she spoke. “Yesterday,” she began, “a girl approached us after school. She said she was looking for Scott.”

Derek’s expression remained unphased, as if this information meant nothing to him. “She wasn’t a student.” Lydia said, her voice hoarse. “She looked terrified.”

Leaning against the desk that Riley sat upon, Derek faced the teenage girls with narrowed and annoyed eyes. “How is this suppose to help me find Boyd and Erica?” He disregarded their earlier confession in favor for his own demand.

“This might.” Scott said earnestly, motioning towards both Allison and Lydia as the two girls began to roll up the sleeves of their shirt. Craning her head over the werewolf’s shoulder, Riley felt her mouth open in surprise at the bruised patterns adorning her friends wrists. And as both Allison and Lydia splayed their wrist side by side, she could see now that the markings were similar on each girl. A circled bruise with three lines sprouting from it’s center. “The girl bruised them with her bare hands.”

“They described the girl to me,” Isaac said then from the opposite side of them room. “It matches the girl who saved me from the Alpha’s.”

The information felt like an overload, able to see the clear evidence before her very eyes as she then looked to Derek, expecting the acknowledgement of it. But his expression still remained aloof, his eyes slitted in the girls direction as if he despised the very idea of anything they had to say. “We think it’s a symbol.” Scott confirmed timidly.

“I don’t see anything.” Derek said stiffly, crossing his arms back over his broad chest in defiance.

It was then that Riley could distinguish the reasoning behind Derek’s cold exterior towards her friends. Still tip—toeing around the mere mention of an ‘Argent’, Derek couldn’t let go of the memory of Allison siding with Gerard just last spring. Nor could he forget how Lydia had brought his dead uncle back to life. Riley glanced back at the bruises, finding it undeniably strange that the bruises were the exact same on each of them. Her hand rose then, allowing her fingers to softly rub along Derek’s tense shoulders. “Look again.” She plead insistently, so sure of the idea that this couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Dropping his firm and narrowed eyes from Allison’s, he glared down at the bruise adorning her wrist once more before shaking his head and looking between Riley and Scott. “You want me to trust them?” He risked evenly, his voice low. “These two?” He elaborated as he pointed an accusing finger between the girls. “After everything they’ve done?”

“Look,” stiles breathed in exasperation. “No one died, alright?”

But Allison was quick to disprove his words. _“My mother died.”_ She mentioned knowingly, finally able to say it out loud without feeling as if her lungs were sinking into the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes were harshly laced on Derek as she reminded them coldly. “Your families little honor code killed your mother.” He informed her insensitively. “Not me.”

His tactless tone caused Riley’s soothing hands to turn rigid against his skin, feeling an incessant need to thwart the tension suffering visibly between them. His hatred stemmed far deeper than that, remembering how his own mother had perished at the hands of girl before him’s aunt. _“Derek.”_ Riley said sternly, her teeth gritted. Her tone was a warning.

Straightening from his perch against the desk, Derek bid one menacingly glance towards the Argent before heading towards the classroom’s exit. “You wanna help?” He huffed angrily. _“Find something worth my time.”_

  
**###**

**###**

  
The loft felt dismal as Riley, Stiles and Scott strode right inside without knocking. It was nearing nightfall, having to adjust her eyes to the singular lamp propped upon the dining table in the center of the room, feeling as if the surrounding shadows were beginning to zero in. Tonight was the full moon, and from what Riley knew, they still didn’t have a thorough plan. They still did not have a single clue to guide them in the right direction. They had four hours until the full moon was at it’s highest peak, and at that time she knew, whoever this Deucalion person was, would fulfill his promise to Erica and Boyd that they’d both be dead.

Neither Derek nor Isaac were in their line of sight as they gathered at the table, but if Riley focused her hearing enough, she could hear their muffled voices as they traveled down the hall and into the open room. “I remembered something.” Isaac said, not bothering to greet any of them as he approached the desk they surrounded and spoke insistently. “When I saw Boyd and Erica,” he continued, “they were both in a vault.”

“You saw their faces?” Scott asked, his eyes hopeful.

Isaac struggled to remember the memory that seemed to evade him, pursing his lips before they dropped into a frown. _“Well, no.”_ He informed. “But I could hear Boyd’s voice. He was talking to another person.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean it was Erica.” Stiles pointed out, his up—turned nose flaring. “And a vault?” He pressed, raising a bushy brow. “You think the Alpha’s have them hostage inside a vault? _In what?_ ” He tactlessly scoured for answers. “In their little werewolf lair?”

“No, you idiot.” Derek huffed with a roll of his eyes, coming from the same hall as he approached the table the four of them were perched around. “A bank vault.” He waived a long, papered tube in his hand before unrolling it across his dining table. It was a blue print. “The bank’s been abandoned for a little over a year.” He concluded before handing off a police report to Stiles. “Ever since a couple of felons broke in and stole over half a million dollars.”

“Half a million?” Riley gasped, her eyes wide.

Stiles flipped through the arrest report for a second before relaying the information he’d skimmed over. “It says they got in through a rooftop air conditioning vent. It leads down into the vault and the robbers were lowered into the shaft and spent twelve hours drilling into the wall.”

“We don’t have that much time.” Scott reminded.

Derek hovered near by, his eyes fixated on the blue prints of the bank, trailing his gaze over each and every entry point over and over again. “The Alpha’s will most likely have every entry point secured after the little stunt Isaac pulled.” He balanced his palms against the table, pursing his lips before looking back at Scott and Stiles. “If we go in the same way,” he asked, “can we fit down the shaft?”

Stiles’ expression contorted into uncertainty, “It’s possible.” He said, reaching into his pocket for his pen so that he could strategize a thorough entrance. “It’ll be a tight squeeze.” He mentioned. “Even for Riley.”

Once his hand retracted from his pocket, Riley noticed a crumpled up paper flutter to the ground. It must have fell when he’d gone searching for a pen, circling the ventilation system in black ink as Riley bent down to retrieve it. She unfolded it as Stiles continued to talk, his voice a distant whisper as she glanced over the missing person’s flyer he’d taken from school. Riley had seen these flyers posted up on nearly every locker earlier that day.

A teenage girl was missing. Her name was Heather. She was a Junior.

Her blonde hair was pinned back behind her ear, her emerald green eyes glittering up at her from the stark white page. Stiles notice then, snatching the paper quietly from Riley’s hands before he crumpled it back up and shoved it into his pocket for safe keeping. “They also patched the wall they drilled into.” Stiles continued, “so we’re going to need a faster way to break it back down again.”

“If I go in first,” Derek theorized, “how much room will I have?”

Isaac, who stood across from Riley, furrowed his brow. “What are you going to do?” He asked as his dirty—blonde curls fell over his eyes. “Punch through the wall?” His tone skeptic.

Derek’s face was solid, his expression alluding to nothing but seriousness. His strength was at it’s all time peak, especially with the full moon working in his favor, he didn’t doubt his ability in the slightest. “It seems as if your own Beta doesn’t trust your proficiency, Derek.” Riley turned her gaze to the left, coiling up the spiral stair case as Peter descended it from the second story. He paused at the bottom before sitting comfortably on the last step. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” Peter extended his own careless insight. “You can always make more.”

“I won’t need to.” Derek confirmed defensively towards his uncle. “Not when I get Boyd and Erica back.” He was so hell—bent on saving his Beta’s, that he was willing to risk nearly everything he had in order to do so. He had no idea the kinds of people he was up against, but perhaps that didn’t matter. Not when his Beta’s lives were at stake.

Peter rolled his eyes. _“Oh, please.”_ He heaved. “Your rescue mission is sounding more and more like a dead body recovery.”

“They’re not dead.” Isaac insisted.

“And we’re not entirely sure they’re alive either.” He commented. He’d seen the memory through Isaac’s eyes. He hadn’t outright seen the Beta’s. They could have already been dead. “It seems like they got themselves into this mess.” He spoke once more, shrugging his relaxed shoulder. “I don’t see why you’d willingly risk your lives for them. Seeing how they abandoned their own Alpha at the first chance they got.”

Derek ground his teeth together, visibly heated the more Peter spoke. He knew that his Beta’s had turned their backs on him. That they’d fled without a proper deportation. But that didn’t mean their lives were still not Derek’s responsibility. He looked to the clock hung upon the opposite side of the room, taking note of how the moon’s apex was in three and a half hours. “We’ve still got time to save them.”

“Or find they’re dead carcasses mangled into shreds.” Peter proposed assertively.

He painted the picture of their friends already being dead. As if their lives were not worth saving. “I liked it better when he was still dead.” Riley muttered under her breath.

“I’m just being realistic.” Peter assured before adding. “And just an f.y.i, _yes_ , coming back from the dead has left my abilities somewhat impaired, but my hearing still works.” His comment was directed towards Riley, Re—assuring her by intimidating her casually. “I really think you should reconsider, Derek.” Peter abruptly argued. “You can always make new werewolves.”

But to Derek it was an easy choice to make. He didn’t have to reconsider a damn thing, because he already knew he’d go to whatever lengths he’d need to find them again. He’d seen their parents on the news, pleading with the town to shed some sort of insight on the topic of their children's disappearance. He knew that the day he’d chosen to turn them, their lives would forever impact the way he’d decide to lead.

He didn’t want to be like Peter. He didn’t want to think of people as expendable.

“Whose coming with me?” Derek murmured, already deciding on his plan.

His gaze shifted to Peter for only a second. “Don’t look at me.” The werewolf placed his palms up into the air as if to disregard Derek’s assumption that he’d help. “I’m not up to fighting speed yet.” Implying that his strength was still diminished from his time spent in a shallow grave. “And honestly, Derek, with Isaac out of commission too, you’re not looking at very good odds yourself.”

“I’m not letting them die.” He implied sternly.

In one swift movement that caused Riley to flinch, Peter rose into a defensive stance. His voice rose, implying his anger was caused by Derek’s stupidity. “Do I have to remind you what we’re up against? A pack of Alpha’s!” Peter seethed, as if Derek had forgotten. “All of them are killers! And if that’s not enough to scare your testicles— _sorry, Riley_ —back into your stomach, then try to remember that two of them can combine bodies to form one, giant Alpha.” He was rampant as he spoke, leaving goosebumps peppered along Riley’s skin as she listened to him describe two out of the five Alpah’s. “I’m sure Boyd and Erica were sweet kids.” He commented. “They’ll be missed.”

Stiles fidgeted nervously beside Riley, the edge of the pen wedged between his lips as he gnawed on it anxiously. “Can somebody please just kill him again?” He muttered.

Having already made his opinion clear, Derek knew peter would not help. He knew he should have been scared, knowing that anything that terrified Peter was something worth fretting over. But he couldn’t get the image of Boyd and Erica’s faces out of his head. He swallowed the insecurity lodging in his throat before looking across the table at the two boys. “What about you?”

His eyes were pleading, hoping he could find someone willing to follow him into war. “I mean—yeah?” Sitles stammered with a shrug. “If you want me to come—“

_“Not you.”_ Derek said thickly, his eyes rolling before looking pointedly at Scott.

The Beta was silent for a moment, contemplating the indecision he felt before comparing it to his undeniable need to save the people he cared about. He nodded once before finally looking up to Derek. “We have to try.”

Riley nodded then too, looking back down at the blueprint and the scribble of black ink outlining the ventilation system. He didn’t ask, but she would follow him down the shaft without question. “It’s getting late.” She mentioned then. “We should get going.”

Her posture straightened, her jaw squared as if she were ready for battle. _“We?”_ Derek asked with a furrowed brow and insistent eyes. “Absolutely not, Riley—“

“Are you serious?” Her voice overlapped his, tampered with bubbling frustration. “You said it yourself,” she reminded him, “you need all the help you can get.”

“Not from you.” He said without hesitation.

His words caused her to bite her tongue, able to feel his lack of trust in her from across the room. “He’s right, Ry.” Scott implied with tender eyes. “It’s not safe.” She could feel the heat begin to prick at her eyes, feeling them beginning to gang up on her as if she were the enemy. As if she were the one holding them back.

“The Alpha’s already have a target on your back.” Derek mentioned when he was able to determine the hurtful glimmer behind her eyes. “I’m not going to hand deliver you to their front door.”

Her teeth clenched tighter. “That’s not your decision to make.” She could feel their eyes on her, as if she were acting like some entitled brat. But that wasn’t the case. “Boyd and Erica are my friends too.” She continued. “I should be out there helping.”

“Putting yourself in the lions den isn’t going to help.” Peter mentioned from the corner of the room. “It’s going to distract Derek from his already flawed plan and your presence will ultimately get someone killed . . . And it’ll most likely be you . . . Or Boyd . . . _Or Erica._ ”

She could feel her body begin to radiate with heat, feeling as if they deemed her worthless. As if her help was the last thing they wanted. Derek reached into his pocket then, dangling his keys in front of her face. “Take my car,” he insisted, “and go straight home.”

  
**###**

**###**

  
Riley sat undecided and undeniably scrutinized in the drivers seat of the Toyota. She’d driven just a block before she’d decided to pull over, feeling her body radiate with hostility as she felt her eyes brim with hot tears. She knew she shouldn’t have reacted like this, but she felt as if their comments coined her as useless. As if her help was a waste. She hated feeling that way. Even worse, she hated hearing someone else tip—toe around the topic. It felt humiliating being cast as someone who needed saving. As someone who would only get in the way. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling the engine purr beneath her feet as she idled in the parking lot of the town’s local grocer. The clock on the dashboard read closer to nine, feeling her hands tighten around the wheel as she glanced up through the windshield and to the moon above.

It was full despite still being hidden behind a bank of clouds. She knew that in the next hour it would reach its peek. What would happen to her friends if Derek and Scott did not get to them on time? What would happen to Derek and Scott if they did? So many questions flooded her mind, circulating her thoughts like a broken record that all she could do to minimize the panic beginning to settle into her bones was bite the insides of her cheeks. Her foot bounced impatiently, feeling her hands begin to drum against the center console as she tried to calm herself. Hating how she was forced to sit here and wait. How they made her feel so minuscule in comparison to the problem they were facing.

She knew she was better than that. Her months of training had prepared her for moments like these, and it made her bitter to see Derek brush it off as if she wasn't ready. But she felt ready. She felt skilled enough to assert her own survival and the survival of others. For Derek not to see that in her . . . Riley shook her head, eliminating that thought as she took an uneven breath.

He needed help and suddenly her help didn’t seem good enough.

He’d ordered her to go straight home as if he were a parent and not a partner.

And if there was one thing Riley Haven hated, it was being told what to do.

Her hand reached for the gear shift, bluntly placing the car in drive out of spite as her foot stomped against the gas peddle. The tires squealed against the pavement, ringing in the night sky as she pulled back onto the road and into the opposite direction of her apartment. The road was empty of other drivers as she reached for her phone, typing in ‘Beacon Hills First National Bank’ into her maps app. It was several miles away, idling on the outskirts of town in what was now deemed a rural part of the city. After the bank had been robbed, having been forced to close it’s doors, that part of the city had seemed to follow close behind.

With the traffic slowing, other businesses began to perish and before anybody knew it, it had been deemed a ghost town.

A rush of exhilaration clambered in Riley’s stomach as she mentally calculated the miles piling up behind her. If Derek did not trust her enough, she’d earn it the hard way. She’d prove it to him that she was willing to fight for her friends. For her pack. She wasn’t as useless as they had painted her be. She’d show him. She’d show all of them that she was capable of more than they thought.

Riley could tell when she was getting close, able to identify the abandoned buildings lining the street as she began to venture past the city limits. Lifting her foot from the gas pedal, she slowed her pace as her GPS assured her the bank was up ahead and only a mere block away. On a whim, she pulled Derek’s car into the vacant parking lot of a nearby thrift store. The sign in the window said ‘permanently closed’, though she could still see shelves of products displayed in the window before she switched off the headlights.

Once she switched off the engine she was basked in an uncanny silence. Able to hear the chirp of grass hoppers in the bushes just outside the car, Riley righted herself mentally before digging into her purse for her ring dagger. It felt heavy in her palm as she looped it around her ring finger, feeling it’s handle curve against her palm before gathering the courage to exit the car. The rural streets were empty, the only significant light source beaming from the sky up above. The moon seemed denser now as she glanced at it, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders as she began to walk the remaining block. Her decision to park the car out of sight was built on the assumption that either Derek or the Alpha’s would recognize it if it were parked right out front.

A part of her truly wondered, as she paced along the sidewalk towards the bank, if the Alpha’s truly had it out for her. Riley couldn’t help but wonder, that if they wanted her dead, they would have done so by now. But killing her didn’t seem like their initial intent. Perhaps they stalked her as a way to incite fear into Derek. As if to use her as leverage, but for what, she wasn’t sure. Now that he was an Alpha, it didn’t seem that far fetched that maybe they saw potential in him. That maybe they were using Boyd and Erica as leverage too in order to get Derek to join them. It was hard to say, but she had a feeling that this Alpha pack was not at all what it seemed.

The air was warm for once, enjoying the mid August temperatures as she began to see the outline of the building come into view. It was basked in complete darkness, leaving an ominous presence she could feel creep into her chest. It made a home there, causing her heart to pulsate quickly against her ribs before the bad feeling coiled within her gut. And once her feet strode over the sidewalk and onto the asphalt of the banks parking lot, she felt the tension begin to shift. it clouded over her like a wave, feeling its weight upon her shoulders. She’d never felt such a heavy presence of fear cling to one place . . . Not since she’d last stepped foot into her childhood home.

Approaching the double doors of the entrance quietly, becoming more alert as her eyes and ears strained at every sight and sound. Her dagger was firmly clutched within her palm, her fingers becoming numb from the pressure in which she grasped it with. And the closer she got to the doors, the easier she could see that the chain looped around the handles had been cut.

The door was pushed open a crack, beckoning her forward as if it were an invitation.

For the second she hesitated outside, she wondered what exactly she’d gotten herself into. The thought of fleeing ran through her mind, trying to decipher if it was too late to turn back. She grit her teeth together, remembering that her friends were somewhere inside and their lives were being held over them like a guillotine. Her hand shook slightly as she stepped forward, brushing the pads of her fingers against the cold metal of the door as she pushed it open even farther. It creaked against the weight baring upon the hinges, mentally kicking herself for not bringing a flashlight. The lobby of the bank was nearly pitch black. Illuminated only by the sheer light of the moon sifting in through the cracked and dirty wall length windows. The tile floor beneath her feet seemed to have accumulated a layer of dust, able to see the visible shoe markings of whoever had trekked through this lobby before her.

The counter up front was hallowed out, gutted of the machines used to count the money as what seemed like hundreds of loose, stark—white papers littered the ground. The hairs on the back of Riley’s neck were ramrod straight, feeling the recognizable sensation of eyes lurking on her. The sensation felt intolerable as her palms began to sweat and her breaths game in shallow spurts.

Carefully balancing her weight onto her toes as she slowly strode further into the lobby of the bank, Riley kept her dagger poised with the sharpened tip pointed forward defensively. And as she approached the reception podium, a shadow emerged before her in one swift movement. Her scream got caught inside her throat, her eyes widening at the crossbow aimed at her. _“Jesus Christ.”_ A tense and delicate voice huffed, lowering the weapon in her hand as Riley’s eyes found Allison Argent’s. It took Riley a moment to adjust her labored breaths, her eyes focusing on the short, curled hair of her best friend before she came to terms with her safety. “What the hell are you doing here?” The Argent muttered breathlessly.

Lowering the dagger in her hand, finding no threat in the girl before her, Riley replied, “I could ask you the same thing.” She implied, her shoulders twitching in a nervous spasm before she could control the panic settling in her bones.

The hunter extended out her hand, the sleeve of her coat rolled up to her elbow as she revealed the bruise upon the inside of her wrist. “I had to do some digging.” She mentioned. “But the bruise isn’t a symbol like we thought. _It’s a logo._ ” Her eyes darted from her wrist and towards the far wall of the bank. Upon the sign signifying the business was it’s logo. A sphere with three curved lines sprouting from it’s center. Riley understood then that the girl who’d saved Isaac and came searching for Scott must not have been so bad after all. “I think the girl was trying to warn us.”

“Warn us of what?” Riley asked in return, craning her head as she shifted her gaze towards the open door to the back of the bank. A clicking noise sounded, repeating over and over again as it grew louder each second. “You hear that?” She asked, her eyes alert.

Allison tucked her hand inside of RIley’s, leading her forward suddenly as they approached the office of what use to belong to a bank teller. Allison shut the door quietly behind her, ducking below the small window embedded into the door as the clicking sound grew closer. Keeping her finger to her lips as a way to signal to Riley to be quiet, she found her own hand cup over her lips to muffle her harsh breathing. They crouched, facing the door in complete darkness as nothing but their slow and shallow breaths sounded in whispering heaves.

And a smell so incredibly pungent wafted within that office. It caused their stomachs to roll, their eyes to water from just being in it’s presence.

Beside her, Riley could feel Allison’s frame radiate in fear, keeping her free hand curled around the barrel of her crossbow. The clicking sound passed them, able to see three distinct shadows from beneath the door as the sound echoed out of earshot. But regardless, both Allison and Riley kept their position crouched beside one another until they were certain that whoever had passed through the lobby was gone.

The hunter was the first to stand, reaching into the pocket of her coat as she reached for her small flashlight. The beam of the light seemed blinding as she shined it over Riley’s head. “Derek and Scott have a plan to save Boyd and Erica.” Riley whispered, still intentionally keeping her voice down as she too rose into a stance.

“Of course they do.” Allison remarked coldly, confident in the fact that their plan most likely held more flaws than it could have. The smell was still lingering, clouding densely within the room that it caused Riley to nearly gag. She shifted the collar of her shirt over her nose, peeking through the small window as Allison shined her flashlight towards the back of the office. “Ri— _Riley?_ ” Allison stuttered suddenly.

“I think they’re gone.” Riley commented, her eyes shifting back and forth across the lobby.

Allison’s breathing hitched, her once cold tone now tainted with grief. “Riley?” She said again. _“Look.”_

She sounded so desperate as she spoke, leaving Riley curious as she turned to face the back wall of the office. Allison’s stance was rigid, though her hand shook as she directed the flashlight towards the back wall. Beyond the bank teller’s desk, propped against the wall, was a body. It’s flesh was gray, tattered in some areas along it’s exposed skin as dried blood clung to it’s dirty clothes. And their hair, matted and blonde, hung lifelessly over their shoulder, brushed back out of their face. And their eyes, once chocolate—brown and gleaming with life, were now gouged from their sockets.

Riley backtracked quickly, her limbs quaking as she busted back through the office door and into the lobby. Her body doubled over, bracing her hands against her knees as she vomited onto the tiled floor. The stench of the decomposing body seemed to evaporate into the spacious building, recoiling from the memory of it as another round of bile seeped up her throat. The body was Erica Reyes. _She’d been dead for a while now._ “We need to go.” Allison murmured hastily, looping her rigid hand around Riley’s arm as she began to tug her back towards the banks entrance. “We need to go now.”

But the sudden sound of brick crumbling, a loud rumble echoing from the back of the bank made Riley resist. She knew Scott and Derek’s plan to shuffle down the ventilation system. She knew Derek had a plan that did not involve drilling into the brick for twelve hours. She knew it could have been them, but she also knew it could have been the Alpha’s. And the decision she made suggested she was hoping for the former. Shrugging her shoulder out of Allison’s grasp, she found herself sprinting towards the open door leading from the lobby and into the back. “Riley!” Allison called out after her, but by the singular sound of her own trending feet, she knew the hunter was not following.

The door lead into a hallway, capsuled in darkness as her hands stretched out, touching each side of the wall as it guided her forward. And this time, as she strained her ears, it wasn’t the sound of crumbling bricks that she heard. But the distinct sound of growls ripping through the hallway. It bounced off the walls, leaving a tremor to coil down her spine. The hallway opened up into a room then, the snarls becoming more recognizable the closer she got. Riley rounded the corner then, finding the large, circular vault door pushed open as she approached. She did not enter immediately, catching her breath as she perched against the cemented frame leading inside.

The growls echoed from four different bodies, all but one recognizable.

The brick wall to the side was busted open, the remnants splayed all along the vaults floor. The vault was gutted from it’s previous usage, housing only a dark vacancy and two enraged werewolves. Despite the shadows lingering, she could make out the deep complexion belonging to Vernon Boyd. His teeth were bared at the two intruders, his eyes glowing a vengeful shade of yellow. And the girl, petite in height, but built with dense muscle had her eyes locked on Derek. Her brown hair was matted, cascading over her shoulders as her paled complexion flushed with heat. Her growl was more heinous than she’d ever heard.

At Riley’s approach, both Derek and Scott turned their heads in her direction. His expression was torn, his eyes glassy. And before their eyes could trail back on the Beta’s, Boyd lunged at Scott. He pinned him back against the wall, snarls echoing from their fanged teeth as Boyd’s claws raked over Scott’s chest. _“It’s me.”_ Derek whispered, his eyes pleading as he glanced at the unfamiliar girl beginning to circle him.

It was as if he tried to console her. As if he knew her. But her rage, tempered by the full moon, fed her incessant desire to tear something apart. And the only thing standing in her way that would suffice was Derek Hale. She lunged first, and to Riley’s surprise, she watched Derek stumble back as if he were afraid to strike back. And so he let her tear into him, a pained roar bubbling from his chest as he tried to ward her off. “Get out of here!” Scott directed at Riley, kicking his leg out as it struck Boyd in the stomach and knocked him off his feet.

Riley found that she could not move, paralyzed by fear as she clutched the vault door for support. And all she could hear was the repeated howl falling from Derek’s lips as the teenage girl tore into him over and over and over again. She analyzed his movements, noticing how he didn’t fight back like he should have. He just kept repeating, _‘It’s me’_ , over and over and over again.

Feeling powerless once again, Riley dropped her gaze from Derek once she could see a puddle of blood begin to pool in the crevice of his collarbone. Her eyes trailed the floor, gritting her teeth against the sounds as her eyes fixated on something unusual. Upon the threshold of the vault was a line of mountain ash . . . Sealing them inside as if to pit them against one another. As if the Alpha’s would enjoy coming back to a massacre. But Riley could change that, feeling as if this was her part in helping, she kneeled down to the ground and hovered her hands over the blackened ash. “Don’t break the seal!” Derek demanded harshly, his voice lowered in a painful tone.

If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure what would happen.

He refused to fight back against this rampant girl. She would not sit here and watch him lose.

She rolled the weight of his command off her shoulders and brushed her hands over the seal of ash. And the werewolves could feel the moment it had happened, as if the weight of the confinement had finally absolved. Both Boyd and the unknown girl stopped their attack, a howl of freedom ringing from their lungs as they suddenly darted towards the vault door. Riley stood from her perch as they barreled toward her. The girl sprinted through the vault door first, shoving Riley back against the cement frame until she was flushed against the concrete. A searing sting collected against her ribs as the girl’s claws swiped against her smooth flesh before heading towards the lobby, Boyd not too far behind her.

Their howls still echoed as they escaped, feeling Derek’s palm clamp around her wrist angrily. “Do you have any idea what you just set free?” He demanded with hostility before his flared nostrils picked up on the fresh scent of her blood. It stained through her forest green shirt as her hand clutch at the ribs just below her breast.

His tone simmered at the sight, his features softening as Riley gritted her teeth. “Who the hell was that?” She huffed, referring to the brunette, wincing slightly as she pulled her hand away to inspect the blood.

Derek gulped, staring after the Beta’s even after they were long gone. _“Cora.”_ He whispered faintly, his eyes welling with tears. _“My little sister.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The Haven Series is already written up to Season 6 of Teen Wolf, and I am looking forward to posting it here soon! Please, please, please leave a review and let me know how you guys are enjoying the progression of this series and what you think happens next!
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at HavenBoundinBeaconHills, where I post teasers for the series and updates as well as on Twitter @ashleydakers. See you guys soon!
> 
> Ashley


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